Tannhäuser

Venus. She is mine enemy Hate her, O hate her, she will slay thy soul ! Tannhauser. And is my soul not slain within me now ? Yet, I do hate her—in these waking hours. But in my sleep she grows upon the sense, A solitary lotus that pales forth In the wide seas of space and separateness. That radiance !—Amber-scented voice of light, Calling my name, ever, ever calling — Venus. Answer that call—and thou art lost indeed ! Wake thou thy spirit in this hateful sleep, Keeping the vision, rise, and spit on her ! Tannhauser. Spit on Thy likeness ? I who love Thee so ? Venus. Yes, yes : obey me ! She will leave thee then. She hath assumed mine image ! [^Tkunder. Tannhauser. What is that ? 44