Anglo-Saxon poetry - arras.net

gratefully, examines them eagerly. Man’scompanions swim off, floating, bring no familiarspeeches. Anxiety is renewed: because he mustsend his exhausted mind often over the waves’laces. I can’t think – beyond this world – whythis my soul doesn’t blacken, when I ponder thelives of warriors: how they quit the hall, smartthinking,courageous young retainers. In thisway earth dies, each of all days falls. But a mancannot be wise ere he knows very many of theworld-kingdom’s winters. A man must bepatient: not too hot of heart, not too quick ofspeech, not too timid at battle, not too wildminded,not too afraid, not too elated, not toogreedy, and not too fast to boast before heknows. A nobleman must stand, uttering vows,until his bold spirit, through years, knows thevicissitudes of his heart. A smart man mustvision the phantasmagoria: when all of thisworld stands, suddenly, in waste, how now invarious parts of this middle-earth – wallssmolder, wind-broken, rime-ringed, thepg. 2 0