Shall I joy compare with the sorrow that her faith to Siguné brought? Nay, 'twere better I speak not of it--O'er rough stones, and a road unwrought Rode Parzival to the window (he deemed well he rode too near). He would ask of the woodland pathway, and the goal of its windings hear. 70 And he thought him, perchance, the hermit might tell of the unknown way, 'Doth one dwell here?' the voice of a maiden it was that made answer,'Yea!' As he knew 'twas the voice of a woman, swift turned he his steed aside On the greensward beside the pathway, for he deemed he too near did ride, And sooner had he dismounted had he known that a maiden dwelt 75 Within such a lowly dwelling, and shame, as was meet, he felt. Then his horse and his shield, all splintered, he bound to a fallen tree, And he loosed his sword from beside him, for a courteous knight was he. Then he stepped him unto the window, and asked of the place and road, And the cell of all joy was empty, and bare, as 'seemed grief's abode. 80 He spake, would she come to the window? and the maiden from prayer arose, She was tall as a virgin lily, and pale as a faded rose, And he deemed not as yet that he knew her--A shirt woven rough of hair, Next her skin, 'neath a flowing garment of grey, did the maiden wear, And sorrow was her heart's treasure, and fallen her courage high, 85 And the guerdon she won for her service must be paid her in many a sigh! Then the maiden she stepped to the window and the knight did she courteous greet, In her hand did she hold her psalter, and her voice it was low and sweet. And Parzival saw on her white hand the gleam of a ring of gold, For truly she bare the token she won from true love of old. 90 And the stone set within the circlet was a garnet, whose slumbering light Flashed red mid the dusky shadows, as mid ashes the sparks glow bright. And the band that her head encircled was black as a mourning band-- Then she spake, 'Sir Knight, 'neath the window a bench shalt thou see to stand, Thou canst sit there, an it so please thee, and thy journey will brook delay, 95 God reward thee for this thy greeting Who hath led thee to me this day!'