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ACT I

No. 8a: SONG - Dorothy


Lucile Hill as Dorothy
DOROTHY.
  Why weep and wait? Why hesitate?
Too soon is better than too late!
    Ah, yes, I wait; but do not weep;
Thy love has rocked my tears to sleep.
     
  Red of the rose-bud, white of the May,
Why are ye fragrant? Why are ye gay?
    Why are ye blithe as blithe can be?
Whisper your secret low to me!
  Why do ye droop when day is done?
Is it because ye love the sun?
    Why do ye smile through tears of dew?
Is it because the sun loves you?
  Red of the rose-bud, white of the May,
That is your secret, tell me not nay.
    Sing the old song that for ever is new,
Ye love your love, and your love loves you.
Sing the old song that for ever is new,
Ye love your love, and your love loves you.

Breast of the robin, why dost thou blush?
Whence is thy music, throat of the thrush?
  Why do ye flit from tree to tree?
Warble your secret low to me!
Why do ye roam the sky above?
Is it in search of your true love?
  Why do ye build yourselves a nest?
Is it because your love is blest?
Breast of the robin, why dost thou blush?
Where is thy music, throat of the thrush?
  Fear not to whisper thy secret to me,
Thou lov'st thy love, and thy love loves thee.
Fear not to whisper thy secret to me,
Thou lov'st thy love, and thy love loves thee.
   
Red of the rose-bud, white hawthorn bush,
Breast of the robin, song of the thrush,
  I am as happy as happy as ye,
I love my love, I love my love,
And my love loves me, my love loves me!

Exit.


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