XII 

 DRAGON'S BLOOD 



Then Sigurd went his way and roasted the heart of Fafnir 

 on a rod. And when he tasted the blood, straightway he wot 

 the speech of every bird of the air. 



It takes longer nowadays. Yet the years are well 

 spent. There is a strange indescribable happiness 

 that comes with the knowledge of the bird-notes. 

 As for the songs — they are not only among the joys 

 of life, but they bring with them many other happi- 

 nesses. Even as I write, the memory of many of them 

 comes back to me: wind-swept hilltops; white sand- 

 dunes against a blue, blue sea; singing rows of pine 

 trees marching miles and miles through the barrens; 

 jade-green pools; crooked streams of smoky -brown 

 water; lonely islands; orchid-haunted marsh-lands; 

 far journeyings and good fellowship with others who 

 have learned the Way — these are but a few of them. 

 Let me entreat you to leave the narrow in-door days 

 and wander far afield before it be too late. 



Come sit beside the weary way 

 And hear the angels sing. 



Ride with Aucassin into the greenwood. There 

 perchance, as happed to him, you will see the green 

 grass grow and listen to the sweet birds sing and 

 hear some good word. 



