lock!
Great love is like death, Helen. It knows no time of day.
If a man were dying at your gates would you keep from him
because 'twas midnight and not noon, and you were robed
for sleep? It was your soul I sought. Must you array that
to receive me? O, these women! On Resurrection day they'll
not get up unless their clothes are called with them from
the dust! 'Excuse me, God, and send a dressmaker!' Ha! ha!
ha! (Walks the floor in maniac humor)

Hel. Edgar, for love's sake hear me!

Poe. Speak loud if you would drown the winds!

Hel. Listen!

Poe. (Turning upon her) If my body bled at your feet you would
stoop to me, but when my spirit lies in flames you cry
'Don't writhe! Don't be a spectacle!'

Hel. (Putting her hands on his shoulders and speaking steadily)
The spirit does not murmur. Only the body cries.

Poe. (Calming) Forgive me, Helen!

Hel. Yes, love. (Draws him to couch and sits by him soothingly)
... O, your forehead is on fire.

Poe. No wonder, when I have just come out of hell.... Keep your
cool hand over my eyes.... O, this is peace!... (Takes her
hand from his forehead and holds it) I made you a song out
there, in the darkness. I was fainting for one gleam of
light when you opened the window and stood as beautiful as
Psyche leaning to the god of love. Listen ... and believe
that my heart was as pure as the lines. (Sings softly)

Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore
That gently o'er a perfumed sea
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece
And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
An agate lamp within thy hand,--
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
Are holy-land!

(Drops his head to her hand and kisses it gently)

Hel. Edgar, my life shall be my