‘But tell me first, true voice of my doom,
Of my veiled bride in her maiden bloom;
Keeps she watch through glare and through gloom,
Watch for me asleep and awake?’
‘Spell-bound she watches in one white room,
And is patient for thy sake.
‘By her head lilies and rosebuds grow;
The lilies droop—will the rosebuds blow?
The silver slim lilies hang the head low;
Their stream is scanty, their sunshine rare.