I thought to go and watch her while she slept,
And walked a devil with me who held close
A dagger—Hubert's—that's my brother, monk.
Still, still, ye swirling fiends that in my brain
Keep your hot dance! Be still!... She lay asleep,
Pain in her heart and beauty on her brow;
Her curls—her father's curls—around her face.
One fell upon my wrist—and see, a burn,
As though its gold were fire. She turned to me,
And murmured as her father did in sleep;