From the heathenish sightless gods,
From the far-away woods and crypts,
From the howling pipes and horns,
From the wise and cunning lords,
From their poisoned songs and cups,
Rotten leaves and muddy waters,
In the deep of the Wilderland swamps…
Where before every night it rise,
The flaming Sunset of unseen force,
Disappearing in scarlet skies,
Flocks of swans are moving forth.
We are following their ways,
Tramping far from the paths and roads,
To the land where the prince of the West
Spread his vast unearthly domes.
If we had an eagle's wings,
We would get to this land in a flight,
Had we strength of the wiry deers,
By a leap we would cross the sky.
Western winds are burning with cold,
Like a diamond is sparkling ice,
Who is named the Father of Gods,
Is infinitely far from us.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.