Sir Siegfried by Kriemhilda
his beauteous wife still sate,
And with her held sweet converse
with joy unmarr’d by hate.
His hands she softly fondled
with hers that were so white—
Until—but how she knew not—
he vanish’d from her sight.
Sir Siegfried by Kriemhilda
his beauteous wife still sate,
And with her held sweet converse
with joy unmarr’d by hate.
His hands she softly fondled
with hers that were so white—
Until—but how she knew not—
he vanish’d from her sight.