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I look – the blood is gone, and soft limbs stir,

Fair lady’s by the stream of Sokkvabekk;

And some joy wakes in opening eyes of hers,

Those eyes death-closed amid her kinsmen’s deaths –

 

She wakes, and sees me, and no one’s about.

But by her looks are future worlds behight:

Great broods of mother-realm, sweet children’s shouts,

Renewèd progeny, grand sun and light;

 

And ’midst such sweetness, breathes she these few words:

“The lord of all hath come; thou know’st this truth –

Yet still, below, dark things are swelling, sure:

Undreamt-of things which batten on the root.”

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Thus Endeth

 

Grand Tales of the Norse Gods

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