Apologies for not putting up more of the diary before now, but a great deal of the following pages were hard to decipher as there was some water damage.
The strange new feeling that welled up inside of me only grew in the time that Éomer stayed in his sister's home. We found a great deal of time to spend together in the sort of activities that both of our worlds have in common. We read poetry and sang songs, told little stories of childhood, rode, walked, and picnicked. Those days are a pleasant blur in my mind. Only one episode stands clear in my mind. It was quite common, but striking.
Éowyn, Faramir, Éomer, and I were sitting together in a fire lit room after a simple evening meal when our chatter turned to a sharing of legends and songs. Of the four of us Faramir was without a doubt the most talented in this realm, and for the most part we listened to his clear, educated tones. At times, though Éowyn would join in with a folk tune or Éomer would give a recitation of a poem of the Rohirrim. On this night we fell into a melancholy and our stories took a sad tone. Éowyn sang a sweet love song that I remember clearly:
"I fell in love one summer,
With a rider brave and true,
A rider of the East-mark,
With eyes of sapphire-blue
Wreath my hair in simbelmynë,
Evermind to keep me true,
In remembrance of a rider,
With eyes of sapphire-blue" (1)
There was a great deal more went on this way. Then it was my turn to recite, and I gave to first thing that came to mind:
"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith, being crowned,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow;
And yet, to times, in hope, my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand." (2)
"What does it mean?" asked Faramir.
"That everything fades with time," said I. Our night ended on that solemn note.
1: Simbelmynë by Jen Littlebottom (used with permission)
2: Sonnet 60 by William Shakespeare