Is that a voice I hear of living men?
Or phantoms in my own throat of the past?
Once more the memory of ancient days
Comes like an evening sun upon the soul.
The hunt is yet again afoot. The horns
Ring in the hills beyond the rounds of reason.
The midnight wind is harping through the hall.
I lift the spear, at evening of the mind.

But do I hear that voice? Where are you now,
Good poet? All your children are asleep
Under the bronze-stocked bonemounds till the day
That Father Sky gathers his seven dark
Daughters in one house in the last unworlding.
I think the head of Uruklewes' spear
Is fluting in the wind. It calls his hands
Back like a fallen orphan from the barrows.

Was that the thunder throttling up the clouds
Or oakenlord Perkunos calling all
His brothers home beneath the barrow world?
Around Klewekos' ancient tomb the hounds
Of hunt appear. The song of other days
Strums at the bones of doughty Kermeklewes.
Father Sky is no more dark in his clouds
Though night rolls like a wheel upon the plain.
The spear of Uruklewes in the wind
Is singing in my hall. Sing, yearcut spear,
Once more in my time, lift the tale again,
And carry out the night with morning's joy,
As Montia wakes her greatest kin in me.

I hear you, Uruklewes, by the sea     
With holy mind, the son of Segeklewes.
The days you rose with dawn and rode the bloodfields   
Like wrathwild fire, host against host on horse
Amid the arrows like Perkunos' oak
In hailblasts. Strongholds sundered, cattle killed,
You found your way across the plains to live.
Now wildgrass conquers green the mighty tomb

Of King Piwerion beyond the hills. 
Well-wrought the name, good Segeklewes,
You gave your firstborn, worthy of a deathless
Fame in the heavens and amid the earthborn.
Forgotten, may it yet sound till Father Sky
Sees his bright daughter clasp her seven sisters,
And the songs the godvoiced poets weave
Have no planet left to hear them.

Īserō mentī Ūruklewems monēyō Segheklewos sūnum tregsnos,
kwi trsēmnē ghaisē eghwent tusntī wīrōs ekwōskwe
Ekde peluwāms dināms arnumet sāwlōi kruarwōi koriomkwe wedhet
kwālas engwnis sweidonts streudhont koryos prota koryom, wīroskwe wīrom.
Enteri kēla omos sistāt kwālas perkwos perkwunoso grōdi
Antiyoms dhūnoms olēyet opskwe pekeus ainumēieto
Artios bhūita priyom nōmn kwod dhidhēsi sūnowei Segheklewe
Wēru klewos ṇdghwitom manāiēt tosmi kemelei esmi pltewiyāique
Nōmn sewe dedhāksieti nekwom mō ḱeiweti dheghmos ōsonos
Boukāsieti teni Deiwos dhugtēr wēmos twersieti swesorm oini demi
We teksōnos wekwom kānmena nē senkhonti regnōisi

Or else, a rock in accidents of wind
Making mere noises propped upon a post
Has wrung its uttermost out of a mind
That for a moment dared believe in ghosts. 

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