The greene bough
Glysteninge gold nowe
Have sweye by wyndes that rise
Beyonde the glare of erthely eyes

The ried-fyre
Slytheringe heigher
Fede wel by lims of olde
Briht with a fyre-bough of gold

The wise tunge
Foretellinge deeds done
With words of wyrd, to know
Tydinges as trewe as scholde shew

And he wou'd know
The ryme and rede of a fo
And he would here
Here that are ever-nere
And he would fight
Never to cowe or to hyde
We brynge to minde the fyre-bough