The Journeyby Olive Tilford Dargan
Format of Original Source: Play
Recommended Adaptation Length:
Candidate for Adaptation? Not Reviewed
Why do you speak of death, Wong Fe?
Because I am so happy. The sages say that we can have no fairer fortune than to die in our happiest moment.
Do not speak of death. The word blisters the air, though your lips be as two drops of June rain.
But how sweet to die when I am fairest in your eyes! Every year, at this time, you would walk down the peach-flower lanes and recall the glow of my cheek. Oh, Heaven, let me not be a faded wife in the blooming time of the year!
Thy soul, Wong Fe, is the flower of my worship.
And death would give my soul wholly to you. I should be near you always. Then morning would not call you to the peaks, leaving me behind in the tear-dew.
To-morrow we shall go together. Your shadow will be with mine on the rocks, and under the fir-trees we shall forget the valley.
And the world? Oh, my lord, there are distances farther than the peaks of Siang, and they will call you from me. It cannot be that you who have known all lands will be content with one. I would see the strange people you have made your brothers, would listen to their dreams, and read the future with their hearts. There are dangers you would not let my body share–I do not ask that–but my soul, you could forbid it nothing.
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