Friday, July 23, 2010

More poetry...

This offering is a riddle from the 9th century...

Moððe word fræt. Me þæt þuhte wrætlicu wyrd, þa ic þæt wundor gefrægn, þæt se wyrm forswealg wera gied sumes, þeof in þystro þrymæfstne cwide and þæs strangan staþol. Stælgiest ne wæs wihte þy gleawra, þe he þam wordum swealg.

A moth ate words; a marvellous event I thought it when I heard about that wonder, A worm had swallowed some man’s poem, a thief In darkness had consumed the mighty saying With its foundation firm. The thief was not One white the wiser when he ate those words.

You can find this, and other riddles, on page 8 of The Norton anthology of poetry.

Answer: bookworm.

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