BRUNHILDA.
Forgive me for that word;
I speak but as I feel. And I am strange
Here in your world, and as my rugged land
Would surely terrify you, were you there,
So does your land alarm me, for I feel
That here I could not have been born at all—Yet
must I live here!—Is the sky so blue
Forever?
KRIEMHILD.
Nearly all the time 'tis blue.
BRUNHILDA.
We know not blue, unless we see blue eyes,
And those we only have with ruddy hair
And milk-white faces! Is it always still,
And does the wind blow never?
KRIEMHILD.
Sometimes storms
O'erwhelm the land, and then the day is night
With thunderpeals and lightning.
BRUNHILDA.
Would it come
Today!—'Twould be a greeting from my home!
I cannot well endure the brilliant light;
It pains me and it makes me feel so bare,
As if no garment here were thick enough!
And are those flowers—red and gold and green?