XII 
DRAGON’S BLOOD 
Then Sigurd went his way and roasted the heart of Fafnir 
on arod. And when he tasted the blood, straightway he wot 
the speech of every bird of the air. 
Ir 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. 
