Your Friend (by Khalil Gibran)

Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
And he is your board and your fireside,
for you come to him with hunger,
and you seek him for peace.

Tu amigo es la respuesta a tus necesidades.
Es el campo que siembras con amor y cosechas con gratitud.
Él es tu hogar y tu mesa,
pues acudes a él cuando tienes hambre
y lo buscas cuando precisas paz.

Hávamál

Norse poetry from around the IX century. Here are some fragments:


Elds er þörf, þeims inn er kominn ok á kné kalinn;
matar ok váða er manni þörf, þeim er hefr um fjall farit.

Den som har komme inn og frys på knea, treng eld.
Den som har fare i fjell, treng mat og klede.

He who comes in with cold-shaking knees, needs fire.
He who has experienced the danger of the mountain, needs food and clothing.

- - -

Er-a svá gótt sem gótt kveða öl alda sona,
því at færa veit, er fleira drekkr síns til geðs gumi.

Øl er kje så godt for vettet som folk seier det er.
Når ølet går inn, går vettet ut.

Beer is not so good for wits as people say it is.
When beer goes in, wit is lost.

- - -

Ungr var ek forðum, fór ek einn saman, þá varð ek villr vega;
auðigr þóttumk, er ek annan fann,
maðr er manns gaman.

Då eg var ung og fór aleine, fór eg vill på vegen.
Då eg møtte ein annan, syntest eg at eg blei rikk.
Mann er mannens glede.

Once I was young and wandered alone and knew nothing of the road.
When I found a comrade, I felt rich,
for man is man's delight.

Harp Song of the Dane Women (by Rudyard Kipling)

WHAT is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre.
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you
Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken- -

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables
To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,
And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,
Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?