I am the Roof-tree and the Keel;
I bridge the seas for woe and weal.
High o’er the lordly oak I stand,
And drive him on from land to land.
I heft my brother’s iron bane;
I shaft the spear, and build the wain.
Dark down the windy dale I grow,
The father of the fateful Bow.
The war-shaft and the milking-bowl
I make, and keep the hay-wain whole.
The King I bless; the lamps I trim;
In my warm wave do fishes swim.
I bowed my head to Adam’s will;
The cups of toiling men I fill.
I draw the blood from out the earth;
I store the sun for winter mirth.
Amidst the greenness of my night,
My odorous lamps hang round and bright.
I who am little among trees
In honey-making mate the bees.
Love’s lack hath dyed my berries red:
For Love’s attire my leaves are shed.
High o’er the mead-flowers’ hidden feet
I bear aloft my burden sweet.
Look on my leafy boughs, the Crown
Of living song and dead renown!