Telling us how, as soft as evil dreams,
Hilperik and his harlot crept, by night,
Into the shadowy chamber where she lay,
Her sweet, frail body nestled close in sleep:
Sleep, that alone drove sorrow from her soul;
And he, the hairy hound, leaped on her bed,
Kneeling on those twin breasts of ivory,
And crushed the slender throat in his huge hands!
“I think I swayed a little; and I know
That something seemed to burn up all desire,