by Xiuqi-(T)
November 2, 2017
Wind sweeps over the red crown of Amon Rûdh,
Rain pelts down in the brown woods of the outlaws;
Loud roar the tears in the rocky floods of Teiglin.
That man beneath the tall helm and the warlike mask,
How shall we sing for you the wintry songs of grief?
Enwrapped in the past, distant in dark thoughts,
The iron chain descending in the deep well of soul
Till the mist of Doriath shrouds you no more,
<>And so it breaks and falls down the black void
<>That is doom, that is you, that is your own.
You and the One beyond the Mountains of Shadow,
In all things bitterly oppose, but in one resemble –
The masterful mind could never learn
That which rules the hearts of Men.
Fate would have you stripped bare,
For the mirth of Elven halls could not contain
In the lone wilderness, your wind and your rain
And in your heart the heat and the cold
That one queenly wise did warn you, “beware, beware" –
You impatient child of Men, yet all in vain.