Unto the Gate
They led me, tho' with pitying doubt.
I did not wait
But stepped across
Its portal, turned not once to heed
Or know my loss.
Then my dream broke,
And with it every loveless creed—
Beneath love's stroke.
[ADELIL]
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.)