KRIEMHILD.
Then rather give
Thy thanks to me that as a child I fell
So wisely. My blue eyes I might have lost
The day I only marked my temple here!
SIEGFRIED.
Oh, let me kiss the scar!
KRIEMHILD.
Thy healing art
Would be but lost. No balsam craves the wound
That's long since healed. But tell me more!
SIEGFRIED.
I thank
Thy mouth—
KRIEMHILD.
With words?