So she took his right hand meekly, nor any word would say,
    Not e’en of love or praising, his longing to delay;
    And they sat on the side of Hindfell, and their fain eyes looked and
      loved,
    As she told of the hidden matters whereby the world is moved: 
    And she told of the framing of all things, and the houses of the
      heaven;
    And she told of the star-worlds’ courses, and how the winds be driven;
    And she told of the Norns and their names, and the fate that abideth
      the earth;
    And she told of the ways of King-folk in their anger and their mirth;
    And she spake of the love of women, and told of the flame that burns,
    And the fall of mighty houses, and the friend that falters and turns,
    And the lurking blinded vengeance, and the wrong that amendeth wrong,
    And the hand that repenteth its stroke, and the grief that endureth
      for long: 
    And how man shall bear and forbear, and be master of all that is;
    And how man shall measure it all, the wrath, and the grief, and the
      bliss.

    “I saw the body of Wisdom, and of shifting guise was she wrought,
    And I stretched out my hands to hold her, and a mote of the dust they
      caught;
    And I prayed her to come for my teaching, and she came in the
      midnight dream—­
    And I woke and might not remember, nor betwixt her tangle deem: 
    She spake, and how might I hearken; I heard, and how might I know;
    I knew, and how might I fashion, or her hidden glory show? 
    All things I have told thee of Wisdom are but fleeting images
    Of her hosts that abide in the heavens, and her light that Allfather
      sees: 
    Yet wise is the sower that sows, and wise is the reaper that reaps,
    And wise is the smith in his smiting, and wise is the warder that
      keeps: 
    And wise shalt thou be to deliver, and I shall be wise to desire;
    —­And lo, the tale that is told, and the sword and the wakening fire! 
    Lo now, I am she that loveth, and hark how Greyfell neighs,
    And Fafnir’s Bed is gleaming, and green go the downward ways,
    The road to the children of men and the deeds that thou shalt do
    In the joy of thy life-days’ morning, when thine hope is fashioned
      anew. 
    Come now, O Bane of the Serpent, for now is the high-noon come,
    And the sun hangeth over Hindfell and looks on the earth-folk’s home;
    But the soul is so great within thee, and so glorious are thine eyes,
    And me so love constraineth, and mine heart that was called the wise,
    That we twain may see men’s dwellings and the house where we shall
      dwell,
    And the place of our life’s beginning, where the tale shall be to
      tell.”