Blood-red was waxen Gudrun, and she said:  “But little it is: 
    Meseems I sat by the door of the hall of the Niblungs’ bliss,
    And from out of the north came a falcon, and a marvellous bird it was;
    For his feathers were all of gold, and his eyes as the sunlit glass,
    And hither and thither he flew about the kingdoms of Kings,
    And the fear of men went with him, and the war-blast under his wings: 
    But I feared him never a deal, nay, hope came into my heart,
    And meseemed in his war-bold ways I also had a part;
    And my eyes still followed his wings as hither and thither he swept
    O’er the doors and the dwellings of King-folk; till the heart within
      me leapt,
    For over the hall of the Niblungs he hung a little space,
    Then stooped to my very knees, and cried out kind in my face: 
    And fain and full was my heart, and I took him to my breast,
    And fair methought was the world and a home of infinite rest.” 
    Her speech dropped dead as she spake, and her eyes from the nurse she
      turned,
    But now and again thereafter the flush in her fair cheek burned,
    And her eyes were dreamy and great, as of one who looketh afar.

    But the nurse laughed out and answered:  “Such the dreams of maidens
      are;
    And if thou hast told me all ’tis a goodly dream, forsooth: 
    For what should I call this falcon save a glorious kingly youth,
    Who shall fly full wide o’er the world in fame and victory,
    Till he hangs o’er the Niblung dwelling and stoops to thy very knee? 
    And fain and full shall thine heart be, when his cheek shall cherish
      thy breast,
    And fair things shalt thou deem of the world as a place of infinite
      rest.”

    But cold grew the maiden’s visage:  “God wot thou hast plenteous lore
    In the reading of dreams, my mother; but thou lovest thy fosterling
      sore,
    And the good and the evil alike shall turn in thine heart to good;
    Wise too is my mother Grimhild, but I fear her guileful mood,
    Lest she love me overmuch, and fashion all dreams to ill. 
    Now who is the wise of woman, who herein hath measureless skill? 
    For her forthright would I find, how far soever I fare,
    Lest I wend like a fool in the world, and rejoice with my feet in the
      snare.”

    Quoth the nurse:  “Though the dream be goodly and its reading easy and
      light,
    It is nought but a little matter if thy golden wain be dight,
    And thou ride to the land of Lymdale, the little land and green,
    And come to the hall of Brynhild, the maid and the shielded Queen,
    The Queen and the wise of women, who sees all haps to come: 
    And ’twill be but light to bid her to seek thy dream-tale home;
    Though surely shall she arede it in e’en such wise as I;
    And so shall the day be merry and the summer cloud go by.”