beareth, and her sun-bright hair is shed
    O’er the laps of the snow-white linen that ripples adown to her feet: 
    As a swan on the billow unbroken ere the firth and the ocean meet,
    On the dark-blue cloths she sitteth, in the height of the golden place,
    Nor breaketh the hush of the hall, though her eyes be set on his face.

    Now he sees this is even the woman of whom the tale hath been told,
    E’en she that was wrought for the Niblungs, the bride ordained from
      of old,
    And hushed in the hall he standeth, and a long while looks in her eyes,
    And the word he hath shapen for Gunnar to his lips may never arise.

    The man in Gunnar’s semblance looked long and knew no deed;
    And she looked, and her eyes were dreadful, and none would help her
      need. 
    Then the image of Gunnar trembled, and the flesh of the War-King
      shrank;
    For he heard her voice on the silence, and his heart of her anguish
      drank: 

    “King, King, who art thou that comest, thou lord of the cloudy gear? 
    What deed for the weary-hearted shall thy strange hands fashion here?”

    The speech of her lips pierced through him like the point of the bitter
      sword,
    And he deemed that death were better than another spoken word: 
    But he clencheth his hand on the war-blade, and setteth his face as
      the brass,
    And the voice of his brother Gunnar from out his lips doth pass: 
    “When thou lookest on me, O Goddess, thou seest Gunnar the King,
    The King and the lord of the Niblungs, and the chief of their
      warfaring. 
    But art thou indeed that Brynhild of whom is the rumour and fame,
    That she bideth the coming of kings to ride her Wavering Flame,
    Lest she wed the little-hearted, and the world grow evil and vile? 
    For if thou be none other I will speak again in a while.”

    She said:  “Art thou Gunnar the Stranger?  O art thou the man that I see? 
    Yea, verily I am Brynhild:  what other is like unto me? 
    O men of the Earth behold me! hast thou seen, O labouring Earth,
    Such sorrow as my sorrow, or such evil as my birth?”

    Then spake the Wildfire’s Trampler that Gunnar’s image bore: 
    “O Brynhild, mighty of women, be thou glorious evermore! 
    Thou seest Gunnar the Niblung, as he sits mid the Niblung lords,
    And rides with the gods of battle in the fore-front of the swords. 
    Now therefore awaken to life! for this eve have I ridden thy Fire,
    When but few of the kings would outface it, to fulfil thine heart’s
      desire. 
    And such love is the love of the kings, and such token have women to
      know
    That they wed with God’s beloved, and that fair from their bed shall
      outgrow
    The stem of the world’s desire, and the tree that shall not be abased,