Lament Of The Rohirrim

Where are now the horse and the riders?
Where is the horn thats blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk? And the bright hair blowing?
Where is the hand on the harp-string ? and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like 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 woods burning?
Or behind the flowing years from the sea returning?