Pleasant is the feeling of wind through your hair,
And, too, pale frost on the winter ground.
Pleasant is joy, and the newborns at the Foaling Fair.
As well as a few mead horns to share around.
Pleasant is the feeling of a stomach full of food;
So is a generous feast of the summer,
Pleasant are maidens when in a certain mood ;
Also, the sight of a lonesome newcomer.
Pleasant is the sun when high in the sky;
And so are the evenings that are long.
Pleasant is the freshly hunted bird in the pie,
And pleasant the feeling of that you belong.
Pleasant is a bracer and torc of metal,
Pleasant, too, to a maid is when you settle.
Fair the iron and leather armour I wear,
The hides, furs, teeth of boar and bear.
Fair is the rider with hide-enamelled shield;
As is the white horse in the green field.
Fair is blood to the sharp tooth of the sword,
So, too, the blood of both colouring the Ford .
Fair is the arrow and it’s lover the bow,
And the sight of armoured men stood in a row.
Fair the courage and fire that burns in the heart,
And the voice of the bard that sings of the art.
Fair is the feeling of breathing and of life,
As is death, to free you of worry and strife.
Fair is the burial where they honour your name,
Fair is the rebirth of a hero yet who lost his fame.
Delightful the touch of a woman, soft and tender,
And striking beauty that comes with fairer gender.
Delightful be the blondes with hair of gold,
With their thighs of wonder and hearts so cold.
Delightful are those with red hair and bold heart,
As is their pale skin and lips sweet as a tart.
Delightful is the raven hair black as night,
The beauty of their eyes in both dark and light.
Delightful are those with eyes so green,
Like stories of old of a mystical queen.
Delightful the locks of brown that are so fair,
And better yet such a woman standing bare.
Delightful is the warmth and love of being kissed,
Delightful and painful is the feeling of being missed.
