pearls. Away from my breath of snow and sweet grass, thou wilt droop,
little soul.

THE WINE HORN. The dark Clove is my fragrance!

THE FLOWERS ring eagerly, and turning up their faces, cry:

"We too, smell sweet."

But the voices of VIEW OF ITALY, FLUME OF STEAM, and THINGS
IN BOOKS cry out:

"I am Italy! Italy!"

"See me--steam in the distance!"

"O remember! remember!"

SEELCHEN. [Distracted] Oh! it is hard!

THE COW HORN. I will never desert thee.

THE WINE HORN. A hundred times I will desert you, a hundred times
come back, and kiss you.

SEELCHEN. [Whispering] Peace for my heart!

THE COW HORN. With me thou shalt lie on the warm wild thyme.

THE FLOWERS laugh happily.