I know myself hanging on the wind cold tree for nine icy nights.
Wounded by the spear, consecrated to Wodan
I consecrated to myself.
I was hanging on the mighty tree which conceals man
Where man grew out of its roots.
They offered me neither bread nor wine
So I bent down in search.
I recognized the Runes; wailing I grasped them.
Until I sank down from the tree.
Now I began to increase, to be wise,
To grow and to feel well.
From the word, word grew after word
And deed shaped to deeds with deeds.
Now I know the songs like no wise one knows
And none of the children of men.
And should these songs, o human child, be un-learnable to you for sheer endless time;
Grasp them as you get hold of them, use them as you hear of them.
Hail you if you retain them!
