THE SEA RETURNING
Éomer in his twilight years.

The years flow by like wind on the long hills of Edoras, dreaming in the grass and mounds, slipping quick and fast beneath the doors of my house. Here still sits the King in his Golden Hall.

Where does the wind go, Elfwine, my son? It does not falter, like a horse let fly upon the loose-grassed meadows. Like a skein of geese in the reeling sky. It goes where it must: the mighty River that bears south, spending in the grey and stormy Sea.

Ah, the Sea. Even on the calmly steps of Meduseld I remember it well: time and time beholding its full arms and running waves. By the Sea the morning is pale and blue, full of the songs of gulls. Such is its call, that unlocks a flood of wild longing. So once did Legolas speak. He is Elven-kind, what the Sea is to them no mortal can tell. Yet is its call also not in your veins?

It comes not to me. To me the Sea is like a dream.

But here a sea of autumn clings to the house of my body. How the time has grown long, how the long years are parting. For I am old -- glad but old. There is to be no more riding in the bright Rohan morning. No more sweet summers in the Eastfold, where the horse-road parts its tall stalks under grey hooves. So be it! All shall fade. The flowers of the forest have closed their faces, and the quick Snowbourn is waning. The season is late; the wind is gleaning the sun's fallow flames.

Rohan beloved! Long live your swift and flowing airs, long live the bright herds and their riders!

Elfwine, my son, I shall go soon to that place where all men must go; this is the winter of all my years, and it shall pierce me like a spear. Lay my body beside the old kings and take from my head the crown, and drink then the sweet mead and unsheathe your bright sword. Go forth, son of Eorl! Morning is upon you as the sun sinks on me; long be your days!

Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?