Valhall a joyless waste would prove, if Freya were not there.
Iduna’s fruit of health and youth accords, ’tis true, the power,
But Freya ’tis who sows the seed of love’s delightful flower:
We all admire her; when the gods she folds in her embrace,
The ecstacy that fills their soul what tongue hath power to trace?
And shall that lovely Disa depart from us for aye?
Shall mist for ever darken Folkvangur’s vivid ray?
And must that bosom soft and fair against the hairy breast
Of the rough giant throb, and by his rugged hand be prest?
Shall lips, which utter tones so mild, and soul unite with soul,