“Nine nights I hung upon the Tree, wounded with the spear, as an offering to Odin, myself sacrificed to myself.”--_Havamal._ You stranger, long before your glance can light Upon these words, time will have washed away The moment when I first took pen to write, With all my road before me--yet to-day, Here, if at all, we meet; the unfashioned clay Ready to both our hands; both hushed to see That which is nowhere yet come forth and be.…
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