38. He walks among the greenèd bowers
And the white-laced coverlets of flowers
Mark with winking, yellowed eyes
The watery passage of the hours
That flow away from yesterdays
And them that by their honor lay
In red-decked fields 'neath white towers
Or 'twixt the streams as passage paid
He walks among the greenèd mounds
Fettered by still mortal bounds
From shared embraces: father, king and cousin dear
For wrath and greater love gone down
By chance, by hope, by what undone?
Why these three gone, and not this one
Who walks among the greenèd bowers?
Why 'scaped he hale of all our sons?
So many gone, yet not this one
For he must live to give them tongue--
Friend or foe, high or low,
'Tis for him to see them sung:
The price to pay, to be that one,
To bear the cost of living won.
--"Victor," Lothíriel, Queen of the Mark
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