The House of the Wolfings

Whiles in the early Winter eve. We pass amid the gathering night. Some homestead that we had to leave. Years past; and see its candles bright. Shine in the room beside the door. Where we were merry years agone. But now must never enter more, As still the dark road drives us on. E’en so the world of men may turn. At even of some hurried day And see the ancient glimmer burn. Across the waste that hath no way; Then with that faint light in its eyes. A while I bid it linger near And nurse in wavering memories. The bitter-sweet of days that were.