“He remembers well” the Ladye cried.
And in wan despair lived she
Two more long, desolate years,
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.
“Now go to my lord once more” she prayed--
“Tell him my death is near.
Tell him I wait his face to see,
And I long his voice to hear.”
The Page came back with a lagging pace--
“O, what does he say?” cried she.