On Wandering

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 harp-string, 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?

Tolkien, J. R. R. (1954). The Lord of the Rings (Vol. 2: The Two Towers)

Brothers

I have to go down

To reach the forest’s heart,

Down alone

Through green darkness

Where sun streams only dreamily

Through shadowy trees.

But knowing the way,

I do not hesitate.

And when I can descend no more,

I find the others gathered,

Holding a place in the circle for me.

We cover the fire pit with moss,

And it becomes a pool-

Too deep, at first, for anyone to speak.

But soon we take each other’s arms,

And Dougal leads us in a round.

We trust ourselves so wholly to the words

That they lift us as one body

And we rise in rocking dance,

Releasing with the sound,

Not stopping till we’re spent.

Cathedral cedars hush about us,

Listening in silent witness,

We sit and pass the cup of hearts,

Sharing sorrows we feared would break us,

The grace we’ve felt reshape us.

Spirits, let the telling touch us,

Let it free the ancient grief,

Let it staunch the inner bleeding,

And leave us men enough to weep.

Frederic Sibley