o'er-cold

Updated: May 16, 2025

Then through the storm's roaring the fiddles break out, And they think not of warring, but cast away doubt, And, man before maiden, their feet tread the floor, And their hearts are unladen of all that they bore. But what winds are o'er-cold For the heart of the bold? What seas are o'er-high For the undoomed to die? Dark night and dread wind, But the haven we find.

William Morris - The Story of the Glittering Plain; or, the land of Living Men