from "Surprised by Joy," by C.S. Lewis

"I had become fond of Longfellow's Saga of King Olaf : fond of it in a casual, shallow way for its story and its vigorous rhythms. But then, and quite different from such pleasures, and like a voice from far more distant regions, there came a moment when I idly turned the pages of the book and found the unrhymed translation of Tegner's Drapa and read

I heard a voice that cried,
Balder, the beautiful
Is dead, is dead----

I knew nothing about Balder; but instantly I was uplifted into huge regions of northern sky, I desired with almost sickening intensity something never to be described (except that it is cold, spacious, severe, pale, and remote) and then...found myself at the very same moment already falling out of that desire and wishing I were back in it."

I understand him. It's a shame I'm discovering an interest in old sagas so late in life. Who knows if I could have come up with something to do with it when I was in college? Or if I could have learned an old language back when I had the energy to learn one? Alas - what might have been.