An Old Poem

I found a poem in an old journal tonight, one I wrote when I was still just beginning to compose. At that time I was interested in the Old Norse forms, which alliterate instead of rhyming.  It was composed in honor of my wife, imagining her as a fairy maid encountered in a wild wood, besought for a bride.

Creature, you crossed my way
Careful as a hart,
Music of the high wood.
Magic is this forest,
Magic your merry eyes,
Moon-silver, pine-green,
Ah! Long-neck, lithe and faerie,
Lustrous as sun-stroked stone.

Frost-Fearless, what
In your fine hands
Speaks of seams,
Sewn garments shining,
Or beasts made boldly,
Brought from cold clay
And fed with fire?

Wild Quest! Wait, Lady,
Wander with me,
Be faithful, stay:
Though far we fare
Our wandering home
Will linger at last.
For your rest I'll raise a tower:
Raise, and make it mine.


Lars Walker said...

I like it.

bthun said...


And apparently the poem impressed the right person.

Grim said...

Well, she was already stuck with me by that point. :)

Grim said...

Also: Thank you, Lars.

douglas said...

Indeed, a well crafted piece.