In the Singing, he rose in brassy pride, and she wailed her tear-shroud song, lamenting:
Ah! Thou sad sublime, my lovèd!
In Time, he'll ask forgiveness; she'll loving give it. He'll ask aid; she'll trusting furnish forth. When, after many betrayals, he is cast into Night, still he calls, and she answers: Patience!
Patience. He is her torment, her trial, her temperer – tempter-teacher, crying: O thou inconsolate, grieve me no more!
He is her Brother Far-fall, to whom she unrelenting faithful gives her name:
I am Mourning, thy heart's guard, and thou shalt never lift my veil!