Cattle die, and kinsmen die.
Thyself eke soon wilt die;
but fair fame will fade never,
I ween, for him who wins it.
Cattle die, and kinsmen die.
Thyself eke soon wilt die;
one thing I wot, wilt wither never:
the doom over each one dead.
Thyself eke soon wilt die;
but fair fame will fade never,
I ween, for him who wins it.
Cattle die, and kinsmen die.
Thyself eke soon wilt die;
one thing I wot, wilt wither never:
the doom over each one dead.
lord odhinn - the poetic edda - havamal - stanzas 76 & 77
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