2026-07-13

The Dream of the Rood (Anglo-Saxon / Old English)

Every inch bethinks me, what eye blinks to see,
tree of your dreams borne aloft on breeze,
dragged out in dazzle, brightliest of beams

(sounds like a conscious rapper).

Then the young hero made ready—that was God almighty— strong and resolute;

he ascended on the high gallows, brave in the sight of many, when he wanted to ransom mankind.

I trembled when he embraced me, but I dared not bow to the ground, or fall to the earth’s corners––I had to stand fast.

I was reared as a cross: I raised up the mighty King, the Lord of heaven; I dared not lie down.

They drove dark nails through me; the scars are still visible, open wounds of hate; I dared not harm any of them.

They mocked us both together; I was all drenched with blood flowing from that man’s side after he had sent forth his spirit.