Stay and pluck the roses with me." "Ah, my friend," she murmured, "if that were possible!" She sank down into the seat under the cedar tree.

Her hands were clasped nervously together, her head was downcast.
"Your words," she continued, her voice sinking almost to a whisper, yet lacking nothing in distinctness, "are like wine.

They mount to the head, they intoxicate, they tempt! And yet all the time one knows that it is not possible.

Surely you yourself--in your heart--must know it!" "Not I!" he answered, fiercely.

"The world would have claimed me if it could, but I laughed at it.