Lament Of The Rohirrim

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the
horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright
hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red
fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall
corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a
wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the
hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead
wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the sea returning?

The Two Towers