THE JOY OF MAN
“You know this wisdom as well as I:
It is a lordly custom to lock in your breast
secret feelings, to swathe your mind
in deep shadow, to shackle your thoughts
so men will not hold your heart’s knowledge.
“But I cannot forget those glad evenings,
my shield-brother—how my broken spirits
are lifted in the hall by your harping and song,
your voice rising over violent clamour
and silencing the hall with your harp’s music,
those deft fingers flitting swiftly
upon shining strings! You stirred my heart
when you comforted me, when we fought wildly
against foreign bands, when I fell from my steed
and you wheeled back around to ward off our foes—
when you saved my life. With your sweet embrace,
your comradeship, I recall nothing
of the deep sorrows swallowing my spirit
and fate’s ravages. I realize now
the wisdom shared in that ancient saw:
The joy of man ever from man cometh.”
Thus I said in my youth to a young rider
before our mirth faded in murder’s wake,
before I walked the ways of wandering exiles,
before love turned to hatred and my heart was alone.
