I looked him proud, but ’neath my pride
I felt a boneless tremor;
He was the Beër, I descried,
And I was but the Seemer!
“Ah, how to be what then I seemed,
And bid him seem that is so!
We always tangle threads we dreamed,
And contravene our bliss so.
I see the red-roan steed again!
He looks, as something sought he: