From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones; The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans. ‘What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.’ ‘Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky; So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea. Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!’ ‘O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south, But you came not with the
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