  Proud Adelil! Proud Adelil! Why does she lie so cold? (I made her shrink, I made her reel, I made her white lids fold.) We sat at banquet, many maids, She like a Valkyr free. (I hated the glitter of her braids, I hated her blue eye's glee!) In emerald cups was poured the mead; Icily blew the night. (But tears unshed and woes that bleed Brew bitterness and spite.) "A goblet to my love!" she cried, "Prince where the sea-winds fly!" (Her love!—it was for that he died, And for it she should die.) She lifted the cup and drank—she saw A heart within its lees. (I laughed like the dead who feel the thaw Of summer in the breeze.) They looked upon her stricken still, And sudden they grew appalled. ("It is thy lover's heart!" I shrill As the sea-crow to her called.) Palely she took it—did it give Ease there against her breast? (Dead—dead she swooned, but I cannot live, And dead I shall not rest.) |
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