Frail as the lily’s stem so slender,
 Yet like spring roses fresh and fair,
As Freyja’s troth-plight, warm and tender,
 Thou as the will of gods art pure. 
Kiss me, and let my burning passion
 Kindle thy soul to perfect bliss,
Of earth and heaven I lose the vision,
 Enraptured by thy melting kiss.

Fear not, for here can come no stranger,
 Without stands Bjorn. his sword in hand,
His champions guarding ns from danger,
 If need be, can the world withstand;
And I, if fighting for my treasure,
 Whose form I on my bosom bear,
To Valhal now would go with pleasure,
 Could’st then be my valkyrie there.

And why fear Balder’s fierce resentment,
 The pious god to whom we pray? 
He looks on us with calm contentment,
 For, loving, we his law obey. 
The god whose brow with sunshine beameth,
 With whom all truth abideth sure,
His love unto his Nanna seemeth
 Like mine to thee, so warm, so pure.

There stands his image, not indignant,
 But mild and soft as sunset ray,
Upon this shrine of god benignant,
 My heart a sacrifice I lay. 
Together let us kneel before him,
 No better offering can be found
Than two fond hearts which both adore him,
 With love like his together bound.

Scorn not my love, my blossom cherished,
 Which more to heaven than earth belongs,
In heaven itself that love was nourished,
 And for that glorious home it longs. 
Oh! that my weary soul releasing,
 The gods would take me up above;
Triumphantly, with joy unceasing,
I’d go, embraced by my dear love.

When bugle-notes the champions rally,
 From out the silver gates they ride;
But I alone join not the sally,
 I linger gladly by thy side. 
When Valhal’s maidens pass me, smiling,
 The mead-horn with its rim of gold;
Thee, only thee, my love beguiling,
 My tender, loving arms enfold.

A leafy cottage near the meadow
 I’d build us by the dark-blue sea,
And there we’d rest us ’neath the shadow
 Of many a golden-fruited tree;
And when bright Valhal’s sun each morning,
 With his clear torch in splendor rose,—­
We’d hasten to the gods returning,
 Yet longing for our home’s repose.

Thy golden locks, with sunshine flushing,
 Wreathed with a starry crown should be;
So my pale lily, rosy blushing,
 In Vingolf-hall should dance with me. 
Then, by my love from danger guarded,
 I’d with thee to our home repair,—­
Where singeth Brage, silver-bearded,
 Our wedding song each evening fair.

How sweet the evening song-bird’s vesper! 
 It cometh forth from Valhal’s shore;
How soft the moon-beams’ gentle whisper,
 From where the dead live evermore! 
They tell of light and love unbroken,
 In homes devoid of care and pain;
Where joyous words alone are spoken,
 There thou my love shalt ever reign.