Goodwyn Barmby
The Necklace Brising
A Poem

On the bosom fair, what resteth there,
On the bosom softly rising?
Upon Freyja's breast, what there doth rest,
But the golden necklace, Brising?

From the hearth-stone has her Odur gone, 
And for him she is ever pining; 
And every tear turned a golden sphere, 
Is amid her necklace shining.

She travels west, and she takes no rest, 
But towards the south is speeding; 
She travels east, and will make no feast, 
Till northward her husband leading.

And with every stop her tears down drop, 
And change into beads all golden; 
Until larger grows and brighter glows 
The string on her bosom folden.

And never a dame had jewelled flame 
With a light more brightly glowing, 
Than Freyja bore, when 'twas thus she wore 
The tears with her heart's-gold flowing.

No jewels rare can ever compare
With gems from the heart's fount rising;
And 'tis Fate's award, who mourns her lord 
Shall wear Freyja's necklace, Brising.

The Beautiful Freyja
1909 John P. Edmison