It had been best for thee to fling Thy body from a mountain-top, Or in a white hot fire to drop, Or ever thou hadst seen me here, Nay then be speedy and speak clear." Then the King cried out eagerly, Grown fearless, "Ah, be kind to me! Thou knowest what I long for then! Thou know'st that I, a king of men, Will ask for nothing else than thee! Thou didst not say this could not be, And I have had enough of bliss, If I may end my life with this." "Hearken," she said, "what men will say When they are mad; before to-day I knew that words such things could mean, And wondered that it could have been. "Think well, because this wished-for joy, That surely will thy bliss destroy, Will let thee live, until thy life Is wrapped in such bewildering strife That all thy days will seem but ill-- Now wilt thou wish for this thing still?" "Wilt thou then grant it?" cried the King; "Surely thou art an earthly thing, And all this is but mockery, And thou canst tell no more than I What ending to my life shall be." "Nay, then," she said, "I grant it thee Perforce; come nigh, for I am thine Until the morning sun doth shine, And only coming time can prove What thing I am." Dizzy with love, And with surprise struck motionless That this divine thing, with far less Of striving than a village maid, Had yielded, there he stood afraid, Spite of hot words and passionate, And strove to think upon his fate. But as he stood there, presently With smiling face she drew anigh, And on his face he felt her breath. "O love," she said, "dost thou fear death? Not till next morning shalt thou die, Or fall into thy misery." Then on his hand her hand did fall, And forth she led him down the hall, Going full softly by his side. "O love," she said, "now well betide The day whereon thou cam'st to me. I would this night a year might be, Yea, life-long; such life as we have, A thousand years from womb to grave."