The falling arras shutting out the day,
She stumbled blindly through the soaring gloom--
Enclosing dank and chilly as the tomb
Her panting life; and unto her it seemed
That ever, as she climbed, more sheer the way
Before her rose, and ever fainter gleamed
The wan, white star of light that overhead
Hovered remote. Far up the stair she heard
A silken rustling as, without a word,
Relentlessly Queen Hild before her sped