grass-hills

Updated: May 5, 2025

But as I rode the valley, I saw a smoke go up O'er the crest of the last of the grass-hills 'twixt me and the Hunding roof, And that smoke was black and heavy: so a while I bided aloof, And drew my girths the tighter, and looked to the arms I bore And handled my spear for the casting; for my heart misgave me sore, For nought was that pillar of smoke like the guest-fain cooking-fire.

William Morris - The House of the Wolfings