Hljóðs bið ek allar helgar kindir, meiri ok minni mögu Heimdallar; viltu, at ek, Valföðr! vel framtelja forn spjöll fíra, þau er fremst um man.
Ek man jötna ár um borna, þá er forðum mik fœdda höfðu; níu man ek heima, níu íviði, mjötvið mœran fyr mold neðan.
Ár var alda þar er Ýmir bygði, vara sandr né sær né svalar unnir, jörð fannsk æva né upphiminn, gap var ginnunga, en gras hvergi.
Áðr Burs synir bjöðum um ypðu, þeir er Miðgarð mœran skópu; sól skein sunnan á salar steina, þá var grund gróin grœnum lauki.
Sól varp sunnan, sinni mána, hendi inni hœgri um himinjódyr; sól þat ne vissi hvar hon sali átti, máni þat ne vissi hvat hann megins átti, stjörnur þat ne vissu hvar þær staði áttu.
Hearing I ask | from the holy races, From Heimdall's sons, | both high and low; Thou wilt, Valfather, | that well I relate Old tales I remember | of men long ago.
I remember yet | the giants of yore, Who gave me bread | in the days gone by; Nine worlds I knew, | the nine in the tree With mighty roots | beneath the mold.
Of old was the age | when Ymir lived; Sea nor cool waves | nor sand there were; Earth had not been, | nor heaven above, But a yawning gap, | and grass nowhere.
Then Bur's sons lifted | the level land, Mithgarth the mighty | there they made; The sun from the south | warmed the stones of earth, And green was the ground | with growing leeks.
The sun, the sister | of the moon, from the south Her right hand cast | over heaven's rim; No knowledge she had | where her home should be, The moon knew not | what might was his, The stars knew not | where their stations were.