Heiðrún, the goat on the hall that stands, eateth off Læráth’s limbs; the crocks she fills with clearest mead, will that drink not e’er be drained. – Grímnismál 25 –

The dust of the hour and the ash of the day Fall down onto our hearts like a bitter rain, As in the fleeting day and ephemeral hour How much love and hope have they put into it! The dust of the day and the ash of the hour Contain our sighs, our wishes and our songs; Every […]