It must be him who fights the faith
For whom the world is being made
Who struggles for a better path
For all of us.
His word’s as stubborn as his sword
And straight as all his deeds. He fords
The life. And on the other bank
The gods would bend.
Oh, Aragorn, son of the kings!
I can foresee you are to win
As it was told. Yet price to pay
Is more than great.
Your love will stay, and you will leave,
The greatest of the oak’s leafes,
The last ray of the setting sun,
Close to be gone.
Thus go toward your star and doom
It won’t reach you so soon,
But when it comes – oh, when it comes! –
Meet it in arms.
To Aragorn
© Copyright: Александра Ладогина, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114022503676
Свидетельство о публикации №114022503676
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