Beneath the vault of ancient sky,
The ash of worlds lifts leaf and limb;
Its roots in frost and fire lie,
Its crown in Asgard’s starlight dim.
Where eagles cry and serpents swim,
It binds the ninefold realms as one—
Through shadow’s hymn and heaven’s hymn—
Yggdrasil stands till worlds are done.
The Norns beside its roots reply,
And weave the threads of fate grown slim;
The slain in Odin’s hall will sigh,
The dead in Hel lie cold and grim.
Yet life still flows through every rim
Of bark and bough and newborn sun;
The gods may fade, the worlds may dim—
Yggdrasil stands till worlds are done.
Its sap is time that will not die,
Its shade gives dreams to gods grown dim;
Through storm and flame its roots comply,
Though wolves devour and giants brim.
No axe can mar, no age can trim
The heart where all beginnings run;
Though doom may come on wind’s last whim—
Yggdrasil stands till worlds are done.
Envoi
O wanderer, when twilight’s hymn
Proclaims the dusk of gods begun,
Recall, though stars and souls grow dim—
Yggdrasil stands till worlds are done.