The Speech of The High One
 
I know I hung on that windswept tree,
Swung there for nine long nights,
Wounded by my own blade,
Bloodied for Odin,
Myself an offering to myself:
Bound to the tree
That no man knows
whither the roots of it run.
 
None gave me bread,
None gave me drink.
Down to the deepest depths I peered
Until I spied the Runes.
With a roaring cry, I seized them up,
Then dizzy and fainting, I fell.
 
Well-being I won
And wisdom too.
I grew and took joy in my growth:
From a word to a word,
I was led to a word,
From a deed to another deed.
 
The Poetic Edda
Hávamál 138 - 139