Old English

I stand, erstwhile pacing,

oft sitting.

I laugh at the trumpery scattered about the hus.

I look to left, and riht.

The eald door, scatched with age,

Reminds me of my brodor.

And I, a wifmann,

Call, find no andswarain,

And face the great aglæca.

I step about, sweord in hand,

bæl and sceadu effuse from it.

The great aglæca.

Sefa, my Sefa, it pounds in the cavern,

The cavern of my chest.

At long last sige!

And yet I stand, erstwhile pacing,

and oft sitting.