For to-day hath no brother in yesterday's tide,
And to-morrow no other alike it doth hide.
This day is the token of oath and behest
That ne'er shall be broken through ill days and best.
Here the troth hath been given, the oath hath been done,
To the Folk that hath thriven well under the sun.
And the gifts of its giving our troth-day shall win
Are the Dale for our living and dear days therein.
O Sun, now thou wanest! yet come back and see
Amidst all that thou gainest how gainful are we.
O witness of sorrow wide over the earth,
Rise up on the morrow to look on our mirth!
Thy blooms art thou bringing back ever for men,
And thy birds are a-singing each summer again.
But to men little-hearted what winter is worse
Than thy summers departed that bore them the curse?
And e'en such art thou knowing where thriveth the year,
And good is all growing save thralldom and fear.
Nought such be our lovers' hearts drawing anigh,
While yet thy light hovers aloft in the sky.
Lo the seeker, the finder of Death in the Blade!
What lips shall be kinder on lips of mine laid?
La he that hath driven back tribes of the South!
Sweet-breathed is thine even, but sweeter his mouth.
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