All the blind horror of the song recedes.
There is a sequel
; is there not, my friend ?
Of love,
your theme,
we have not heard a note.
Tannhauser.
That is a question.
I am not so sure
My song was not entirely
to that end.
Wolfram.
Yes,
poet, true one that you are indeed!
You shew us the dilemma of the soul,
The Gordian
knot Love only hews asunder.
Tannhauser.
Or—shall I say
?—soothes
only, bandages,
Not heals the sore of Destiny
?
Wolfram.
No,
certes.
But substitutes for one reality
Another —and
a lovely pleasant one.
Tannhauser.
Existence
is illusion after all ;
Man,
a bad joke
; and God, mere epigram I
If we must
come
to that.
And likewise
love,
p
11^