Builds an ambitious phantasy, and calls The frail thing Life; this gossamer of dreams Each strong wind shatters. Priest, perchance it was My beauty, like a wind, had wrecked his web, So that his life became quite purposeless, The whole world being alien to him, And only I seemed to him like a star, Beckoning him. Alas! his errant brain Had clothed me, too, with grace that I had not, And then misjudged me. Yea, I know the world Imputes to me adultery and lust; There is a doom on queens as well, it seems, To have each action weighed by vulgar minds, Criticized by the multitude; their names, Toys, with which fools have grown familiar: Yet who would waste denial on this mob Of idle chatterers whose souls are slime. But, riding through this crowd, there came to me A moment when I saw the hopelessness In him, the hopelessness in all the world, Whose praises are as crowns corruptible, Born, as their worthless blame, of ignorance. “I paused not long upon this wintry thought. The world that I had won, before mine eyes Broke into colour, motion, victory, With banners breaking gay, and flashing steel In serried ranks, as Sigebert rode close To kiss me on the cheek, then drew our son From the huge horse that proudly carried him, To his own saddle-bow; and so they rode Through all the army while I followed them.” The grave voice slackened from its pitch, and fell Quavering, and the silence held them both. Then Brunhild raised again her head and spoke In a deep, even voice and passionless: “The swallows of our summer soon were fled. Sigebert left me with a slender guard In Paris, and left Hildebert with me: Then pressed on Tournai, after Hilperik, Who fled before him on to Vitry, where His nobles left him, laying down their arms, Crying aloud: ‘Lo, we are spent with wars, Let Sigebert be King of all the Franks.’ So the news came to me one warm eve when, As the sun dropped behind the western hills, I watched the bright stars one by one grow clear In the green lingering of the faded light, While swans came floating to me on the tide Of the strong Seine, which royally they rode With ruffled snowy plumage and arched necks Out of the distance sailing, like a fleet, And turned their course toward a reedy isle Where each one preened its plumage till soft eve With shuttered eyelids lulled them into sleep. So, even as this isle unto the swans, Peace seemed to me a welcome harbourage; I counted now each step beyond clear gain In the slow progress from our lawless state To an imperial dominion set Over the wreck of that old Roman power; And all my thoughts were eagles carrying The thunder of mine edicts through the world. The folk of Paris, too, had heard the news And gathered by the palace gate that night