And hate to me was sweeter far than love.
O priest, was that hate sin?” He answered not
At once; but met her gaze with level eyes,
Then answered: “Brunhild, thou must ask thy soul.”
Perhaps she sought there, but no answer breathed
Her unmoved lips, close shut with a strange smile;
Then with a gesture, grave, magnificent,
She spoke again: “What fools have done to me,
Or enemies have planned; what shames and wounds
Arnulf and Pippin keep for me, or gave: