It was only that afternoon that May Welland had let him guess that she “cared” (New York’s consecrated phrase of maiden avowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of the engagement ring, the betrothal kiss and the march from Lohengrin, pictured her at his side in some scene of old European witchery.

My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

[…] he beheld The city fronted with bright fires, and heard Pipes, and recorders, and the hum of war;

Yet some may feel that Strindberg became rather overcrowdedly multitudinous.