Whither do you gaze

For you are much deceived

The Palantir clouds your sight

A much loved son you have lost

Taking up an errand in wilful pride

Slain is he

A less loved son you have sent away

Accepting an errand in filial duty

Wounded is he

Both thy sons met peril

For thy pride and waning wisdom

Denethor Steward of Gondor

Son of Ecthelion