But if their loss I feel, will not they feel my loss much more?
Odin, I’m sure, when no one laughs, will feel vexation sore.
Long days of constant seriousness the Asar soon will rue;
They’ll find that to the zest of life mirth must contribute too.
Heavy and dull are they become already; there they sit,
And yawn, and in their mead-horn gaze, when they have emptied it.
Let but the Disar once the bread without the leaven taste,
Insipid will it prove, I trow, without friend Loptur’s yeast:
Without the poignancy of change pleasure itself must pall,
And light, unchequer’d e’er by shade, be insupportable.