But when young Skirnir talk’d about the moon,
She laughed, and quick resumed her jesting tone.
“If like the moon thy master be,” she said,
“Let him ne’er hope to win a youthful maid!
For pale and sallow is the moon; such hue
All blooming damsels with repugnance view:
Such love is lukewarm.”—“Nay!” the swain replied,
“Did Frey once press thee in his arms as bride,
Thou wouldst not of his lukewarm love complain;
But since my powers of argument are vain,