Some dried grass-tufts from the wide flowery field,
A muscle-shell from the lone fairy shore,
Some antlers from tall woods which never more
To the wild deer a safe retreat can yield,
An eagle's feather which adorned a Brave,
Well-nigh the last of his despairing band,—
For such slight fits wilt thou extend thy hand
When weary hours a brief refreshment crave ?
I give you what I can, not what I would
If my small drinking-cup would hold a flood,
As Scandinavia sung those must contain
With which the giants fods may entertain ;
In our dwarf day we drain few drops, and soom must thirst again.