Two Tuesday poems for Wednesday ....

First

I reckon, when I count at all,
First Poets - then the Sun -
then Summer - then the Heaven of God -
And then the list is done.
But looking back - the first so seems
To comprehend the whole -
the others look a needless show,
So I write Poets - All.
this summer lasts a solid year,
They can afford a sun
The East would deem extravagant,
And if the final Heaven
Be beautiful as they disclose
To those who trust in them,
It is too difficult a grace
To justify a dream. Emily Dickinson

Wulf and Eadwacer

The men of my tribe would treat him as game:
if he comes to the camp they will kill him outright.

----------------- Our fate is forked.

Wulf is on one island, I on another.
Mine is a fastness: the fens girdle it
and it is defended by the fiercest men.
If he comes to the camp they will kill him for sure.

-----------------Our fate is forked.

It was rainy weather, and I wept by the hearth,
thinking of my Wulf's wanderings;
one of the captains caught me in his arms.
It gladdened me then; but it grieved me, too.

Wulf, my Wulf, it was wanting you
that made me sick, your seldom coming,
the hollowness at heart; not the hunger I spoke of.

Do you hear me, Eadwacer? Our whelp
------------------Wulf shall take to the wood.
What was never bound is broken easily,
our song together: Anonymous, 10th century