To this end were we born, Dearest and most sweet, and from all time
predestinate! To this end, Sweetest and most dear, do we live and die,
in death to find completer unity. For here is that secret of the world
which wise men search and cannot find, and here too is the gate of
Heaven.
Look into my eyes, and let me gaze on yours, and listen how these things
shall be. The world is but a mockery, and a shadow is our flesh, for
where once they were there shall be naught. Only Love is real; Love
shall endure till all the suns are dead, and yet be young.
Kiss me, thou Conqueror, for Destiny is overcome, Sorrow is gone by; and
the flame that we have hallowed upon this earthly altar shall still burn
brightly, and yet more bright, when yonder stars have lost their fire.
But alas! words cannot give a fitting form to such a song as this. Let
music try! But music also folds her wings. For in so supreme an hour
"A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,"
and through that opened door come sights and sounds such as cannot be
written.
They tell us it is madness, that this unearthly glory is but the frenzy
of a passion gross in its very essence.
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