And each moved on by other in a yearning trance of bliss.
From their eyes the soft love-lightning flashed those twain alway
Strong hero and fair maiden—yet stolen glances were they.
Ask ye, were those white fingers by him pressed lovingly
For speech of the heart?—such knowledge is all too high for me;
Yet—yet I may nowise believe it, that he spared to do this thing.
Soon came sweet self-betrayal of the heart that had found its king.
It was all in the summer season, in the very glory of May.
Never his heart had tasted such bliss as on that glad day,
Never such soul-uplifting, as in that hour he knew