The ravens of Wotan. See p. 128.
[She has thrown herself down before Brünnhilde.
BRÜNNHILDE [Quietly.
What dreadful dream-born fancies,
Sad one, are those thou dost tell?
The high Gods' holy
And cloud-paved heaven
Is no longer my home.
I grasp not what thou art saying;
Dark its sense,
Wild and confused.
Within thine eyes,
So over-weary,
Gleams wavering fire;
With thy wan visage,
O pale-faced sister,
What wouldst thou, wild one, of me?
WALTRAUTE [Vehemently.
The ring upon thy hand—
'Tis that: ah, be implored!
For Wotan fling it away!