Rolf's Dream

What is this dream that comes,
rousing me from peaceful sleep?
Where once dreamt I of ivory spires
and legend's queen, of milk and honey
touched with fire?
Was it here, where now waits
this cold vision of a virgin's cries?
How changed it is;
how could I recognize?

When will you grow weary,
one taken with sword and call of war?
What dreams do you carry?
Is the spill of blood the gold you crave
or the fallen's hoar
the god you serve?
Will you join your brother shortly,
in martyrdom, in final words,
in the endless hold of the grave?

You raise your sword with a master's skill,
betraying the times you clutched scraped knees
and shook with tears, your voice gone shrill;
When you held your brother's broken form
did the tears come as free?
I cannot say, for it is unknown.

But this I can say:

May it never be told that she shed life's blood
for hold over man, or glory or fame;
she sought only justice, out of bond of love.
Alis raised her sword. And then morning came.