FREYJA He yearns for me. Am I not beautiful? Am I not holy? Wherefore should I fear? All living things love Freyja; gods and men, Anses and elves and helpless animals. Where I walk glittering, there lovers press And consecrate their eyes and beat their hearts Like moths against the moon. And shall I go Nor smile once kindly on him? Even the moon Is kinder to her loves.
ODIN He craves no smile From thee, nor ever smiled into the face Of love since his birth-hour. He lusts for thee.
FREYJA Why should he not? Hath Odin never lusted? What mind that knows the lust of intellect Shall mock desire? Ah! Who that ever yearned, Yearned not in ignorance?
ODIN [To Freyja.] Child, pitiest thou this thing?
FREYJA Hath not its voice Cried out immortally and craved me? Pity? Love is a kind of pity for itself That longs so endlessly. Allfather, never Ere now hast thou gainsaid me.
ODIN Yet must now! This bitterness is mine alone to bear. O Freyja! O my Baldur! You of all The creatures of my will, bright lovers, you Only are happy. Be so still. Depart! Forget these wolvish cries; seek not to help Evil unsolvable.
FREYJA What then is evil, That lovers may not solve it?
ODIN [His face turning wistful with a beautiful light, lifts his obstructive spear, and stands from the path.] Hope of the world!