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 ?
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