I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When [bad word] without a spring
That I shall ever see

I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago
And people who will see a world
that I shall never know

I sit beside the fire and think
Of older times that were before
I listen for returning feet
And voices at my door

On high above the mists I came
distant flame before the sun
wonder ere the waking dawn
Where grey the nordlands [bad word] In elder days and years of yore