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chriemhild.
Nay; end it with this portrait of a woman,
To whom is possible yet a perfect lot.
When beauty once has blossomed in the human,
Its blight remember not.
To whom is possible yet a perfect lot.
When beauty once has blossomed in the human,
Its blight remember not.
Even blotted so, her story is immortal.
Transfigured by her love, Chriemhild shall stand,
Alway with Siegfried at the palace-portal,
The dream-bird on her hand.
Transfigured by her love, Chriemhild shall stand,
Alway with Siegfried at the palace-portal,
The dream-bird on her hand.
