Gods of the Twilight

A pagan god appeared not long ago;
His beard and brows were white and full of snow.
He shrugged and stared at me with empty eye;
The occult god was not from heaven-high.

I could not look, nor could I turn away,
He said, "Asgard awaits the brave to-day!"
Into that blackness I was drawn—abyss.
I shook my head, for things, they were amiss

"By all the muses, poet!" he then cried;
"I offer thee Asgard, why cast aside?"
He stormed, my spine an icy chill became,
"With Odin, come, the sire of Baldur slain!"

"Thou cannot have my soul, and cannot take.
Go home to dead and leave, for heaven's sake."
I, having said the strongly words, then shrunk;
The god remained, and swore by World Tree's trunk.

"Into my halls, and thou shall have rewards,
The worst, if Odin leaves, it in store is.”
"The fate I wait is worse?" I gave reply,
"For none is worse than thine: thou fell from sky."

His anger rose above the clouds at least;
That god of death, the cold, capricious beast.
"Are worse than Greeks and Romans, Norse!" I cried,
"Did Homer write of toenail-ships with pride?"

"Are clever, boy! But thou can not do much;
The Fates are not so like thy God and such.
Unkind be they, but worse some still are, see:
To-morrow thou shall meet the god Loki!"

"But take what he away that thou can not?"
Then thought a moment Odin on the spot,
"And spoil the fun, the god's surprise-intact?
Content to know his choice is worse, you hack!"

"An offer worse than Odin's, this I mean,
As I wish thee a Happy Halloween.
But know thou this, I have been sickly-sweet;
The trickster god will not but trick or treat.”

The god then left me, seeing-eye nodding,
To think of Loki's dreadful cold plotting.
The trickster surely promised nothing good,
Yet could he be much worse than Odin would?

As Odin rode on Sleipnir, quickly gone,
He trampled gaily over summer's lawn,
And I, a shiver shaking frozen skin,
Would not forget the olden god—Odin.