How should I weep—I, thy wife?

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

I have heard thee Laugh; and thy smiles were always bright as fire.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Well were it with me—ay, and reason found For me to live and do the living world Some service—could my husband warm thereat His heart as winter-stricken hands in frost Are warmed at winter fires.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

No need, no need: The sun thou art warms all our year with love, And leaves no chill on winter.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

Albovine, Love now secludes us not from sight of man— From sight of this my maiden and the man Who shines but as the battle’s boy for thee But lives for me my maiden’s lover—true As truth is—Almachildes.

ALBOVINE.

ALBOVINE.

How thy lips Hang lingering on his name as though ’twere thou That loved him! Thou shouldst love thy maiden well.

ROSAMUND.

ROSAMUND.

As she loves me I love her. Hildegard, Leave us. Thou knowest I love thee.

HILDEGARD.

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