. 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!

SEELCHEN. He is honey!

THE FLOWERS ring their bells jealously and cry:

"Bitter! Bitter!"

THE COW HORN. Stay with me, Seelchen! I wake thee with the crystal
air.

The voices of COWBELLS and MOUNTAIN AIR tiny out far away:

"Clinkel-clink! Clinkel-clink!"

"Mountain air! Mountain air!"

And THE FLOWERS laugh happily.

THE WINE HORN. Come with me, Seelchen! My fan, Variety, shall wake
you!

The voices of VIEW OF ITALY, FLUME OF STEAM and THINGS IN
BOOKS chant softly:

"I am Italy! Italy!"

"See me--steam in the distance!"

"O remember, remember!"

And THE FLOWERS moan.

SEELCHEN. [In grief] My heart! It is torn!

THE WINE HORN. With me, little soul, you shall race in the streets.
and peep at all secrets. We will hold hands, and fly like the
thistle-down.

M. DANDELION. My puff-balls fly faster!

THE WINE HORN. I will show you the sea.

GENTIAN. My blue is deeper!

THE WINE HORN. I will shower on you blushes.

ALPENROSE. I can blush redder!

THE WINE HORN. Little soul, listen! My Jewels! Silk! Velvet!

EDELWEISS. I am softer than velvet!

THE WINE HORN. [Proudly] My wonderful rags!

THE FLOWERS. [Moaning] Of those we have none.

SEELCHEN. He has all things.

THE COW HORN. Mine are the clouds with the dark silvered wings; mine
are the rocks on fire with the sun; and the dewdrops cooler than
pearls. Away from my breath of snow and sweet grass, thou wilt droop,
little soul.

THE WINE HORN. The dark Clove is my