The curse that called me to the hall
Hard by my father’s barrow grew
Like fat on idleness. For all
My sleights the monster came and slew.
Across the sill of winter-green,
Unseasonable-he kept range
And fed upon our sloth while queen
Courtier and soldier worshipped change.
By night the honey in the cup
Coursed round to cheat a healthless court:
I called the last of honor up
And found my fund of power short.
Bankrupt I slept beside a friend
And knew my queen and blood no more.
That night the cold came. Snow made an end
Of time unvaried as a whore.
Then Grendel, whiter than the moor,
Snatched up the warrior from my side
Spilling a track upon my floor
With blood my turpitude had dyed,
And pale by daylight men called up
My father’s curse. They looked my fault:
My honor spent, I took the cup
And drank the honey clean to salt.
That night I waited at the sill
And seized the arm that groped my side;
The folk at morning drank their fill
Of worship, thinking doom had died.
The year has turned. Grown fat, the folk
Have drained my virtue to a fool.
My queen lies elsewhere and I joke
At evil boiling in a pool.
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