Runes

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Runes

THE SPEECH OF THE HIGH ONE

I know I hung on that windy tree,
Swung there for nine long nights,
Wounded by my own blade,
Bloodied for Odin,
Myself an offering to myself:
Bound to the tree
That no man knows
Whither the roots of it run.

None gave me bread,
None gave me drink.
Down to the deepest depths I peered
Until I spied the Runes.
With a roaring cry I seized them up,
Then dizzy and fainting, I fell.

Well-being I won
And Wisdom too.
I grew and took joy in my growth:
From a word to a word
I was led to a word,
From a deed to another deed.

From the Old Norse
The Poetic Edda (ca. A.D. 1200)

	Actual Rune stones in Sweden		Rune Readings
	The Elder Futhark		Carving your own runes

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THE SPEECH OF THE HIGH ONE

I know I hung on that windy tree, Swung there for nine long nights, Wounded by my own blade, Bloodied for Odin, Myself an offering to myself: Bound to the tree That no man knows Whither the roots of it run.

I know I hung on that windy tree,
Swung there for nine long nights,
Wounded by my own blade,
Bloodied for Odin,
Myself an offering to myself:
Bound to the tree
That no man knows
Whither the roots of it run.