Classic Poem

Men proffer presents here to my people.
Who feeds him there when he is famished?
Alas for us.

Wulf is war-weary, held on some highland;
He on one island, I on another.
Alas for us.

Far is that island, filthy with fens.
Who feeds him there when he is famished?

I wait for Wulf wasting with longing;
My tears and torrents of rain fall together . . .

When Wulf the warrior wound arms about me
Fierce was the mingling; pleasure and pain . . .

Sick am I now, hapless, heart-hungry;
Sick with not-seeing, craving his coming . . .

Hear me, Eadwacer: the brat that I bore thee,
Wulf will deliver the whelp to the wildwood . . .

Now it is broken which never was blended:
The song and the strength of the trial together.