Of Hilperik and Fredegonde, who slew
Galswith, the white-armed sister whom I loved,
The slim, fair sister with deep, dreaming eyes
As blue as harebells or calm waters are.
“Ah! I remember that frost-silver dawn,
Clouded with curtains of deep-billowing mist
That rose to hide the first bright beams of day,
In a white froth, out of the wooded plains—
Delicate, wreathing, spiral broideries;
And how the hoofs rang loud upon the road,