  From the "Wooing of Etain." O love much-enduring through a year is my love,It is grief close-hidden, It is stretching of strength beyond its bounds, It is (fills?) the four quarters of the world; It is the highest height of heaven; It is breaking of the neck, It is battle with a spectre, It is drowning with water, It is a race against heaven, It is champion-feats beneath the sea, It is wooing the echo; So is my love, and my passion, and my devotion to her to whom I gave them. FOOTNOTES: |
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