From A Play in Verse by Hugo Von HofmannsthalTranslated from the German by Harriet Betty Boas.

His voice is all he has, the strange monk, Yet people flock, hang on his words like bees Upon the dark sweet blossoms, and they say "This man is not like others—he Does shake our souls, his voice melts into space, Floats down to us, and penetrates our being— We are all like children when we hear his voice."— Oh, if a judge could have his lofty brow, Who would not kneel upon the steps to read Each sentence from his clear and shining brow. How sweet to kneel upon the honest step And know one's fate were safe within that hand, Within those kingly, good and noble hands. And oh, his merriment! How exquisite! To see such people merry is a joy, —He took me by the hand and drew me on. My blood ran magic, backward stretched my hand. The laughing throng upon it closely hung A sinuous chain, we flew along arbored walks Down through a deep and steep and narrow path Cool as a well, and bordered very close With cypresses that lived a century— Then down the brightest slope. Up to my knees the wild, warm flowers kissed Where we were running like a breeze in May. Then he released me, and along he leapt Upon the marble stairs between cascades; Astride he sat upon the dolphin's back And held himself up on the arms of fauns, Upon the dripping Triton's shoulders stood Mounting always; high, higher still he clomb, The wildest, handsomest of all the gods!— Beneath his feet the waters bubbled forth, They sparkled, foamed, and showered the air with spray, Falling on me. The waves' tumultuous din Drowned out, engulfed the entire world, Beneath his feet the waters bubbled forth, They sparkled, foamed and showered their spray on me.

Dianora Monologue from A Play in Verse

Rehearse Dianora's monologue