At Sticklestead

Then hawks came flying from Harold's Island 
And the mound-bees gathered, and stung them sore; 
And a ness of swords in the drift of Odin 
Gleamed white a moment, then gleamed no more. 

War-leeks were white in the gold sun-rising, 
War-leeks are red now the sun goes down, 
And Valkyrs gather in Valhall gateways, 
And wives are watching in Oslo town. 

Few hawks flew homewards to Harold's Island 
And the hives of the mound-bees empty stand, 
Eagles shriek over the drift of Odin, 
And gray wolves come in a ghostly band. 

War-leeks were white in the clear sun-rising, 
War-leeks are red, now the sun goes down: 
Valkyrs and Vikings are glad in Valhall, 
And wives are wailing in Oslo town.