In countless ways this world is
ornamented with exotic wonders.
I saw a strange thing singing in a hall.
There was nowhere a creature among men
which had a form more fantastic.
A beak which droops,
feet and hands like a bird,
but she can not take wing nor walk at all,
yet, straining to be off, she starts to move;
polished in arts, she passes back
and forth among fellows,
sits at banquet, bides her time
until she can display her skill
to mankind. She eats no morsel
of what men have at their merrymaking.
Loved, questing fame, she stays dumb;
yet in her foot there is a fine voice,
glorious gift of song.
Strange to me how the creature can conjure speech
through a finely ornamented fool.
Her brothers, ranks of kinsman, wreathe
her naked neck with rings
when she wears jewels. Wise poets
must long ponder who this lady is.