He lay, a dead man, in the sun:
I kissed his lips, and felt no shame.
Round him the warriors stood amazed;
His love—'twas that brought back his life:
Down on him long my father gazed,
Then spake, “My son, behold thy wife!”
IV.
On carpets heaped my mother sate:
I sate, I nestled on her knee;
We heard a murmur round the gate: