ALMACHILDES.

Thou knowest I might not look upon it.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

No. Thou hast never loved before?

ALMACHILDES.

ALMACHILDES.

I have loathed, not loved, The loveless harlots clasped of all the camp: I have followed wars and visions all my days Even till my love’s eyes lit and stung to life The soul within my body. Till I loved, I knew not woman.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Now thou knowest. This love Is no good lord—no gentle god—no soft Saviour. Thou knowest perchance thy bride’s name—hers Whose body and soul were one but now with thine?

ALMACHILDES.

ALMACHILDES.

How should not I? What darkling light is this That burns and broods and lightens in thine eyes, Queen?

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Hildegard it was not.

ALMACHILDES.

ALMACHILDES.

Art not thou— Or am not I—sun-smitten through the brain By this mad might of midsummer? Who was it That slept or slept not with me while the night Was more than noon and more than heaven? What name Was hers who made me godlike?

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