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Once more, as sure of coming gain,
As erst in Ida she did stand,
So stood she now; her open hand,

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That late he saw closed round the ring,
Empty and bare of anything:
Gaping awhile he stood, for fear
Now made him think a voice to hear,
And see her change soon, and depart
From out their midst; but gathering heart,
He muttered: “Yet, what have I seen?
Should it not even thus have been,
If the closed hand were but a dream?
Of some guest worser must I deem;
Go, fool; thine own love waiteth thee.”
Therewith he went, yet fearfully
Looked o'er his shoulder on the way,
And terror on his heart still lay.