THE FLOWERS, ringing in alarm, cry:

"We know them!"

THE WINE HORN. I hear the rustlings of the birth and death of
pleasure; and the rattling of swift wheels. I hear the hungry oaths
of men; and love kisses in the airless night. Without me, little
soul, you starve and die,

SEELCHEN. He is speaking for the gentle Sir, and the big world of
the Town. It pulls my heart.

THE WINE HORN. My thoughts surpass in number the flowers in your
meadows; they fly more swiftly than your eagles on the wind. I drink
the wine of aspiration, and the drug of disillusion. Thus am I never
dull!

The voices of VIEW OF ITALY, FLUME OF STEAM, and THINGS IN
BOOKS are heard calling out together:

"I am Italy, Italy!"

"See me--steam in the distance!"

"O remember, remember!"

THE WINE HORN. Love me, little soul! I paint life fifty colours.
I make a thousand pretty things! I twine about your heart!