I trow I hung on that windy Tree
nine whole days and nights.
Stabbed with a spear, offered to thee,
myself to mine own self given.
High on that Tree of which none hath heard
from what roots it rises to heaven.
None refreshed me ever with food or drink,
I peered right down in the deep,
crying aloud I lifted the Runes,
then back I fell from sleep.
Nine mighty songs I learned from the great
son of Bale-thorn, Bestla's sire;
I drank a measure of the wondrous Mead,
with the Soulstirrer's drops I was showered.
Ere long I bare fruit, and throve full well,
I grew and waxed in wisdom;
Word following word, I found me words,
deed following deed, I wrought them.
Hidden Runes shalt thou seek and interpreted signs,
many symbols of might and power.
By the great Singer painted, by the high Powers fashioned,
graved by the Utterer of gods.
For gods graved Odin, for elves graved Daïn,
Dvalin the Dallier for dwarfs.
All-wise for Jötuns, and I, of myself,
graved some for the sons of men.
Dost know how to write, dost know how to read,
dost know how to paint, dost know how to prove.
Dost know how to ask, dost know how to offer,
dost know how to send, dost know how to spend?
Better ask for too little than offer too much,
like the gift should be as the boon;
Better not to send than to overspend.
Thus Odin graved ere the world began;
Then he rose from the deep, and came once again.