Golden winter morning and the frost is rolling in
White dawn on the mountains and my song is growing thin
Spirits have gone where I can't follow
Rode off north on the wings of a swallow
And now I've found it's hard to lift my chin.
In ages to come here, will the ocean come again
Mighty gods come riding with the ghosts of armies slain
The star of kings borne on their brow
But lo the morn grows colder now
And as the night, so ends my sweet refrain.