Upon the Pale Incline/ Á hinni bleiku hall

“I walked where none had carved their thought upon the earth, And found the ground unwilling still to yield.”/ Gekk ek þar sem engi hafði rist hug sinn í jörð, ok fann jǫrð enn treg at gefa. “No herald cried the hour of turning, Nor did the soil protest its burden.”/ Engi boðmaðr kallaði stund hins snúnings, né jǫrðin bar fram mót sitt byrði. “When last I turned to face the ridge, The sky had drawn its veil without a hand, And what was once behind me stayed unseen.”/ Þá er ek síðast sneri andlit mitt til fjalls, hafði himinn dregit slǫr sitt án handar, ok þat, er áðr var bak mér, varð eigi sýnt. “The trees, as towers bent with time, Held council in their crooked stance, And offered naught but stillness for reply.”/ Tréin, sem turnar beygðir af tímum, héldu ráð sitt í skakkri stǫðu, ok gáfu ekki nema kyrrð í svari. “Forget me not, but let the wind misplace me, Let moss unmake my frame with patient grace, For I was never meant to linger long.”/ Gleym mér eigi, en lát vindinn villast með líkam minn, lát mosann leysa form mitt með stilltri náð, því ek var aldrigi ætlað at dvelja lengi. “Let every stone remain unmoved by passage, Let nothing speak my deeds aloud, And may no beast recall my tread.”/ Lát hvern stein standa óraskaðr af för, lát ekkert segja verk mín hátt, ok engi dýr minnist spor míns. “And should the hill consume my shape entire, Let none enquire, and naught be answered.”/ Ok ef hæðin etr allan líkama minn, lát engi spyrja, ok ekkert svar gefist.