Interlude | MusicalTheatreResourceCenter

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MARQUISE. I do not fear you though you are a poet, And I say things to you, no other ears would endure. You were not born, poor anchorite, To say to a woman: "Be mine." And such is your secret vanity, You are a servile vassal of your own Utopia. You pretend to transform women Into laurel branches meaningless, And with your cynic's blare You thread upon the needle of your pride Dregs from the utter depths of the abyss. POET. Marquise, a poet's love has led you astray. MARQUISE. Oh, don't be vain and fanciful. I swear That in my placid life, happiness brings no joy. What I longed for was a love, profound and mature, The profound love of a poet come to being, And not the incongruities of adolescence in verse.... The radiant synthesis of a pungent existence And not the disloyalties of a dispersed dream. What woman has not dreamed of loving a poet Who would be conqueror and conquered all in one? What woman has not wished to be humble and forgiving With the man who sings the great passions he has known? We need you poets.... We are tormented by the desire Of a harmonious life, filled with deep sound, With the vigor and strength of wine poured out Into bowls of truths, deep with the depth of death.

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