And I know, though nought is spoken, that she thanks me on her knees.
VII.
Yes, for pardon freely granted;
For she wrong'd me, understand.
And my life is disenchanted,
As I wander through the land
With the sorrows of dark morrows that await me in a band.
VIII.
Hers was sweetest of sweet faces,
Hers the tenderest eyes of all!