Wounded and wind-lashed on the tree,
For nine days and nine nights I hanged:
That was immortal agony –
The night fell clawed, the sun rose fanged –
Pierced by the spear, I gave my life to Woden
Woden is my name, I was the husband and the wife
The Gift, the giver.

Who can claim to know the darkness, and light
To which roots and branches reach
Of the great frame that bore my weight
Above the spring who’s drops can teach
The drinker wisdom? Pinned on high, I starved above
The holy well. On the ninth night I gave a cry
Looked down, perceived all things and fell