In a bed them laid
Brynhild, Sigurd;
a sword them sundered
set there naked.
Gram lay between
gleaming sheathless,
fate lay between
forged unyielding.

Dawn came on earth,
day grew round them.
From sleeping finger
he slipped her ring,
and Andvari's gold,
old, enchanted,
on Brynhild's hand
bound in token.
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