Where now the horse and the rider?
Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk
And the bright hair flowing?

Where is the hand on the harpstring
And the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest
And the tall corn growing?

They have passed like rain on the mountain
Like a wind in the meadow
The days have gone down in the west
Behind the hills into shadow
Who shall gather the smoke
Of the dead wood burning
Or behold the flowing years from the sea returning?