The morning of the nineteenth of May in the year 2984.
Lie beside me for tonight, lie with me and do not go.
Bide awhile at my side and let us fool ourselves.
Let us play at married love that 'tween us shall ne'er grow.
I cannot love thee, Finduilas dear, as you well should know.
Nearest my heart shadow lies, that eastward points at dusk.
How wouldst thou have me love thee if I cannot love thee so?
Lie beside me still at least and do not let me go.
Lie to me just for tonight—in darkness promise grace.
'Tis not easy to pretend to peace 'neath Mordor's Shadow.
How can I graceful love thee, caught within the throe
Of self-wrought sickness for a man I neither see nor know?
How is it that I married thee so blind? Why hast thou me sought?
What brought us to this quiet morn, if we loved each other not?
Or perhaps it was his doing—
"It needs but a word from you, to make me doubt all I am." (night of the seventh of May 2984)
(night of the twenty-third of August 2984)
Do I think of you often? Sometimes I believe I do.
But more often do I know of you unthinking, silent.
And sometimes I hear your cries, that break like pine on the heights—
Sudden violent explosive—telling our tale, our marriage.
And sometimes you say my name, in the dark hard by my side
You would be beautiful if
I could tell you so.
How to love one ill, if I could not love thee
What should I see in sunken eyes as empty as the sea;
In fevered flesh that 'gainst me in the night does tell
But of thin bones and thy weary life within thee?
To dredge from parched and bloodless lips
Something more than anxious, clumsy art,
When o'er thy ghastly smile my tongue trips?
Laid out pale upon the bed, thou liest 'neath my gaze,
As I listen to the coughing that thy breathing doth inspire.
Marked upon—within—thy body is the tale of our days
Together, bound forever, though this fragile form doth tire.
For there's love in wordless waiting, and I would have thee stay.
(Month of March 2986)
Rue the day that he was born, they say you were too weak to
Bear a child, that it may kill/ you yet. One's enough—drink rue.
I know that you miss the sight. It has been long since you throve.
'Tis hard to bid the day farewell for such silence,
But that day's much the same—you smile only faintly.
Ah but today you stand straight just as once you did
Fair in white and blue to match the sky, my beacon,
White Tower, dark hair—how came you to wait for me?
But then this month there's rain once more, draws illness forth.
Last month sun and today cloudy eyes and skies, too.
'Tis so hard to learn to say good-night, you're so pale.
Spring is the cruel month for you—too close to winter,
Too alive with promises that you cannot keep.
Finduilas, do not let go the rail, Finduilas!
(Summer to Spring, Year 2987-2988)