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Out of Frost and Fire sprang Ymir,
Type of Chaos, long ago;
Mighty Odin slew the giant,
As the Norsemen know.


From the rushing blood the ocean
In swift thunderous torrents whirled;
From the ponderous carcass Odin
Carved the Mitgard world,--


Of his hair made waving forests,
Of his skull the vaulted sky,
Moulded from his bones the mountains
Which around us lie.


Lo, today, upon my window
Odin carves on every pane,
(To rebuke my skeptic smiling),
A new world again.


Mountain, forest, plain and river,
Flash upon my raptured sight;
Here is Summer's perfect joyance,
And Spring's dear delight.


Ferny cliff, cascade and grotto,
Glitter on the frosty pane--
Miracle the Norsemen chanted
Here is wrought again.


Who shall say the gods have left us,
Or that Odin's power is lost,
When new Mitgards rise before us
Out of Fire and Frost?