Literature
Ilmarinen
A hammer-blow,
an artist's stroke,
with fire I temper,
and toil in smoke.
A man did ask,
my wife denied,
and so he struck,
her life stymied.
And in my grief,
to forge I turn,
to gold and silver,
to a forge that like
my heart does burn.
A queen shall I craft,
A bride shall I build,
from summer dawn
and winter moon.
Beauty forged of sun-blessed gold,
grace shaped of lunar silver,
body of adamant, a soul's beauteous mask.
eyes of earth-blessed jade,
hair of quicksilver, fated for the task.
A queen shall I craft,
A bride shall I build,
with shapely shell
and reason wrought.
But all is naught,
though heavens I craft,
an