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"Your sister's name Was naught but Swanhild, Whom Jormunrek With horses has trodden! White horses and black On the war-beaten way, Grey horses that go On the roads of the Goths. "All alone am I now As in holt is the aspen; As the fir-tree of boughs, So of kin am I bare; As bare of things longed for As the willow of leaves When the bough-breaking wind The warm day endeth.
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