This very hour I will declare it all!
[Pointing to Falk’s ring on her finger.
Falk [hastily].
No, Svanhild, not to-night, wait till to-morrow!
To-night we gather our young love’s red rose;
’Twere sacrilege to smirch it with the prose
Of common day.
[The door into the garden-room opens.
Your mother’s coming! Hide!
No eye this night shall see thee as my bride!