Who shall thwart the madness and the gladness of it, laden
⁠Full with heavy fate, and joyous as the birds that whirl?
Nought in heaven or earth, if not one mortal-moulded maiden,
⁠Nought if not the soul that glorifies a northland girl.
Not the rocks that break may baffle, not the reefs that thwart
⁠Stay the ravenous rapture of the waves that crowd and leap;
Scarce their flashing laughter shows the hunger of their heart,
⁠Scarce their lion-throated roar the wrath at heart they keep.
Child and man and woman in the grasp of death clenched fast
⁠Tremble, clothed with darkness round about, and scarce draw breath,