Re posting from the last bread because it echoes the experience of anons.

Anhaga is an anglo saxon poem usually translated "The Wanderer"

Often the lonely receives love,

The Creator’s help, though heavy with care

Over the sea he suffers long

Stirring his hands in the frosty swell,

The way of exile. Fate never wavers.

The wanderer spoke; he told his sorrows,

The deadly onslaughts, the death of the clan,

“At dawn alone I must

Mouth my cares; the man does not live

Whom I dare tell my depths

Straight out. I see truth

In the lordly custom for the courageous man

To bind fast his breast, loyal

To his treasure closet, thoughts aside.

The weary cannot control fate

Nor do bitter thoughts settle things.

The eager for glory often bind

Something bloody close to their breasts.

the rest

https://www.vqronline.org/essay/wanderer-anglo-saxon-poem-translated-jeffrey-hopkins