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Fellowship of the Ring Poems

The Road Goes Ever on and on


Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say. Top


Three rings for Elven-Kings


Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. Top


Upon the Hearth the Fire is Red


Upon the hearth the fire is red,

Beneath the roof there is a bed;

But not yet weary are our feet,

Still round the corner we may meet

A sudden tree or standing stone

That none have seen but we alone.

Tree and flower and leaf and grass,

Let them pass! Let them pass!

Hill and water under sky,

Pass them by! Pass them by!


Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate,

And though we pass them by today,

Tomorrow we may come this way

And take the hidden paths that run

Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,

Let them go! Let them go!

Sand and stone and pool and dell,

Fare you well! Fare you well!


Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

Then world behind and home ahead,

We’ll wander back to home and bed.

Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,

Away shall fade! Away shall fade!

Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,

And then to bed! And then to bed! Top


Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady Clear!


O Queen beyond the Western Seas!

O Light to us that wander here

Amid the world of woven trees!


Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!

Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!

Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee

In a far land beyond the Sea.


O stars that in the Sunless Year

With shining hand by her were sawn,

In windy fields now bright and clear

We see your silver blossom blown!


O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

Thy starlight on the Western Seas. Top


Ho! Ho! Ho! To the Bottle I Go


Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go

To heal my heart and drown my woe.

Rain may fall and wind may blow,

And many miles be still to go,

But under a tall tree I will lie,

And let the clouds go sailing by. Top


Sing Hey! For the Bath at Close of Day


Sing hey! for the bath at close of day

that washes the weary mud away!

A loon is he that will not sing:

O! Water Hot is a noble thing!


O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain,

and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;

but better than rain or rippling streams

is Water Hot that smokes and steams.


O! Water cold we may pour at need

down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;

but better is Beer, if drink we lack,

and Water Hot poured down the back.


O! Water is fair that leaps on high

in a fountain white beneath the sky;

but never did fountain sound so sweet

as splashing Hot Water with my feet! Top


Farewell We Call to Hearth and Hall!


Farewell we call to hearth and hall!

Though wind may blow and rain may fall,

We must away ere break of day

Far over wood and mountain tall.


To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell

In glades beneath the misty fell,

Through moor and waste we ride in haste,

And whither then we cannot tell.


With foes ahead, behind us dread,

Beneath the sky shall be our bed,

Until at last our toil be passed,

Our journey done, our errand sped.


We must away! We must away!

We ride before the break of day! Top


O! Wanderers in the Shadowed Land


O! Wanderers in the shadowed land

despair not! For though dark they stand,

all woods there be must end at last,

and see the open sun go past:

the setting sun, the rising sun,

the day’s end, or the day begun.

For east or west all woods must fail… Top


Tom Bombadil's Songs


Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!

Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.

Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,

Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,

There my pretty lady is. River-woman’s daughter,

Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.

Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing

Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?

Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,

Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!

Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!

Tom’s in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.

Tom’s going home again water-lilies bringing.

Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?


Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle!

Tom’s going on ahead candles for to kindle.

Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping.

When the night-shadows fall, then the door will open,

Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow.

Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!

Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you.

Hey now! merry dol! We’ll be waiting for you!


Now let the song begin! Let us sing together

Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,

Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,

Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,

Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:

Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!


O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water!

O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter!

O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after!

O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves’ laughter!’


I had an errand there: gathering water-lilies,

green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady,

the last ere the year’s end to keep them from the winter,

to flower by her pretty feet tilt the snows are melted.

Each year at summer’s end I go to find them for her,

in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down Withywindle;

there they open first in spring and there they linger latest.

By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter,

fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes.

Sweet was her singing then, and her heart was beating!

And that proved well for you – for now I shall no longer

go down deep again along the forest-water,

not while the year is old. Nor shall I be passing

Old Man Willow’s house this side of spring-time,

not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter

dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water.


Get out, you old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight!

Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,

Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!

Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!

Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,

Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.


Wake now my merry tads! Wake and hear me calling!

Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is fallen;

Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.

Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open!


Hey! now! Come hoy now! Whither do you wander?

Up, down, near or far, here, there or yonder?

Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin,

White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin! Top


Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!


Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!

By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,

By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!

Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us! Top


Cold be hand and heart and bone


Cold be hand and heart and bone,

and cold be sleep under stone:

never mare to wake on stony bed,

never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.

In the black wind the stars shall die,

and still on gold here let them lie,

till the dark lord lifts his hand

over dead sea and withered land. Top


There is an Inn, a Merry Old Inn


There is an inn, a merry old inn

 beneath an old grey hill,

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

 one night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat

 that plays a five-stringed fiddle;

And up and down he runs his bow,

Now squeaking high, now purring low,

 now sawing in the middle.


The landlord keeps a little dog

 that is mighty fond of jokes;

When there's good cheer among the guests,

He cocks an ear at all the jests

 and laughs until he chokes.


They also keep a horned cow

 as proud as any queen;

But music turns her head like ale,

And makes her wave her tufted tail

 and dance upon the green.


And O! the rows of silver dishes

 and the store of silver spoons!

For Sunday there's a special pair,

And these they polish up with care

 on Saturday afternoons.


The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,

 and the cat began to wail;

A dish and a spoon on the table danced,

The cow in the garden madly pranced,

 and the little dog chased his tail.


The Man in the Moon took another mug,

 and then rolled beneath his chair;

And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,

Till in the sky the stars were pale,

 and dawn was in the air.


Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:

 ‘The white horses of the Moon,

They neigh and champ their silver bits;

But their master's been and drowned his wits,

 and the Sun'll be rising soon!’


So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,

 a jig that would wake the dead:

He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,

While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:

 'It's after three!' he said.


They rolled the Man slowly up the hill

 and bundled him into the Moon,

While his horses galloped up in rear,

And the cow came capering like a deer,

 and a dish ran up with the spoon.


Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;

 the dog began to roar,

The cow and the horses stood on their heads;

The guests all bounded from their beds

 and danced upon the floor.


With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!

the cow jumped over the Moon,

And the little dog laughed to see such fun,

And the Saturday dish went off at a run

with the silver Sunday spoon.


The round Moon rolled behind the hill

 as the Sun raised up her head.

She hardly believed her fiery eyes;

For though it was day, to her surprise

 they all went back to bed! Top


All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


All that is gold does not glitter,

 Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

 Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

 A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

 The crownless again shall be king. Top

Hear the poem here.


The Fall of Gil-Galad


Gil-galad was an Elven-king.

Of him the harpers sadly sing:

the last whose realm was fair and free

between the Mountains and the Sea.


His sword was long, his lance was keen,

his shining helm afar was seen;

the countless stars of heaven's field

were mirrored in his silver shield.


But long ago he rode away,

and where he dwelleth none can say;

for into darkness fell his star

in Mordor where the shadows are. Top


Song of Beren and Luthien


The leaves were long, the grass was green,

 The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,

And in the glade a light was seen

 Of stars in shadow shimmering.

Tinúviel was dancing there

 To music of a pipe unseen,

And light of stars was in her hair,

 And in her raiment glimmering.


There Beren came from mountains cold,

 And lost he wandered under leaves,

And where the Elven-river rolled

 He walked alone and sorrowing.

He peered between the hemlock-leaves

 And saw in wander flowers of gold

Upon her mantle and her sleeves,

 And her hair like shadow following.


Enchantment healed his weary feet

 That over hills were doomed to roam;

And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,

 And grasped at moonbeams glistening.

Through woven woods in Elvenhome

 She tightly fled on dancing feet,

And left him lonely still to roam

 In the silent forest listening.


He heard there oft the flying sound

 Of feet as light as linden-leaves,

Or music welling underground,

 In hidden hollows quavering.

Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,

 And one by one with sighing sound

Whispering fell the beechen leaves

 In the wintry woodland wavering.


He sought her ever, wandering far

 Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,

By light of moon and ray of star

 In frosty heavens shivering.

Her mantle glinted in the moon,

 As on a hill-top high and far

She danced, and at her feet was strewn

 A mist of silver quivering.


When winter passed, she came again,

 And her song released the sudden spring,

Like rising lark, and falling rain,

 And melting water bubbling.

He saw the elven-flowers spring

 About her feet, and healed again

He longed by her to dance and sing

 Upon the grass untroubling.


Again she fled, but swift he came.

 Tinúviel! Tinúviel!

He called her by her elvish name;

 And there she halted listening.

One moment stood she, and a spell

 His voice laid on her: Beren came,

And doom fell on Tinúviel

 That in his arms lay glistening.


As Beren looked into her eyes

 Within the shadows of her hair,

The trembling starlight of the skies

 He saw there mirrored shimmering.

Tinúviel the elven-fair,<
br>  Immortal maiden elven-wise,

About him cast her shadowy hair

 And arms like silver glimmering.


Long was the way that fate them bore,

 O'er stony mountains cold and grey,

Through halls of iron and darkling door,

 And woods of nightshade morrowless.

The Sundering Seas between them lay,

 And yet at last they met once more,

And long ago they passed away

 In the forest singing sorrowless. Top


Troll Sat Alone on His Seat of Stone


Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,

And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;

For many a year he had gnawed it near,

For meat was hard to come by.

Done by! Gum by!

In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,

And meat was hard to come by.


Up came Tom with his big boots on.

Said he to Troll: 'Pray, what is yon?

For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim,

As should be a-lyin' in graveyard.

Caveyard! Paveyard!

This many a year has Tim been gone,

And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard.'


'My lad,' said Troll, 'this bone I stole.

But what be bones that lie in a hole?

Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o' lead,

Afore I found his shinbone.

Tinbone! Thinbone!

He can spare a share for a poor old troll,

For he don't need his shinbone.'


Said Tom: 'I don't see why the likes o' thee

Without axin' leave should go makin' free

With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin;

So hand the old bone over!

Rover! Trover!

Though dead he be, it belongs to he;

So hand the old bone over!'


'For a couple o' pins,' says Troll, and grins,

'I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.

A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet!

I'll try my teeth on thee now.

Hee now! See now!

I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and skins;

I've a mind to dine on thee now.'


But just as he thought his dinner was caught,He found his hands had hold of naught.

Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind

And gave him the boot to larn him.

Warn him! Darn him!

A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought,

Would be the way to larn him.


But harder than stone is the flesh and bone

Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.

As well set your boot to the mountain's root,

For the seat of a troll don't feel it.

Peel it! Heal it!

Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,

And he knew his toes could feel it.


Tom's leg is game, since home he came,

And his bootless foot is lasting lame;

But Troll don't care, and he's still there

With the bone he boned from its owner.

Doner! Boner!

Troll's old seat is still the same,

And the bone he boned from its owner! Top


Song of Earendil the Mariner


Eärendil was a mariner

that tarried in Arvernien;

he built a boat of timber felled

in Nimbrethil to journey in;

her sails he wove of silver fair,

of silver were her lanterns made,

her prow was fashioned like a swan,

and light upon her banners laid.


In panoply of ancient kings,

in chainéd rings he armoured him;

his shining shield was scored with runes

to ward all wounds and harm from him;

his bow was made of dragon-horn,

his arrows shorn of ebony,

of silver was his habergeon,

his scabbard of chalcedony;

his sword of steel was valiant,

of adamant his helmet tall,

an eagle-plume upon his crest,

upon his breast an emerald.


Beneath the Moon and under star

he wandered far from northern strands,

bewildered on enchanted ways

beyond the days of mortal lands.

From gnashing of the Narrow Ice

where shadow lies on frozen hills,

from nether heats and burning waste

he turned in haste, and roving still

on starless waters far astray

at last he came to Night of Naught,

and passed, and never sight he saw

of shining shore nor light he sought.


The winds of wrath came driving him,

and blindly in the foam he fled

from west to east and errandless,

unheralded he homeward sped.


There flying Elwing came to him,

and flame was in the darkness lit;

more bright than light of diamond

the fire upon her carcanet.

The Silmaril she bound on him

and crowned him with the living light

and dauntless then with burning brow

he turned his prow; and in the night

from Otherworld beyond the Sea

there strong and free a storm arose,

a wind of power in Tarmenel;

by paths that seldom mortal goes

his boat it bore with biting breath

as might of death across the grey

and long-forsaken seas distressed:

from east to west he passed away.


Through Evernight he back was borne

on black and roaring waves that ran

o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores

that drowned before the Days began,

until he heard on strands of pearl

when ends the world the music long,

where ever foaming billows roll

the yellow gold and jewels wan.

He saw the Mountain silent rise

where twilight lies upon the knees

of Valinor, and Eldamar

beheld afar beyond the seas.

A wanderer escaped from night

to haven white he came at last,

to Elvenhome the green and fair

where keen the air, where pale as glass

beneath the Hill of Ilmarin

a-glimmer in a valley sheer

the lamplit towers of Tirion

are mirrored on the Shadowmere.


He tarried there from errantry,

and melodies they taught to him,

and sages old him marvels told,

and harps of gold they brought to him.

They clothed him then in elven-white,

and seven lights before him sent,

as through the Calacirian

to hidden land forlorn he went.

He came unto the timeless halls

where shining fall the countless years,

and endless reigns the Elder King

in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;

and words unheard were spoken then

of folk of Men and Elven-kin,

beyond the world were visions showed

forbid to those that dwell therein.


A ship then new they built for him

of mithril and of elven-glass

with shining prow; no shaven oar

nor sail she bore on silver mast:

the Silmaril as lantern light

and banner bright with living flame

to gleam thereon by Elbereth

herself was set, who thither came

and wings immortal made for him,

and laid on him undying doom,

to sail the shoreless skies and come

behind the Sun and light of Moon.


From Evereven's lofty hills

where softly silver fountains fall

his wings him bore, a wandering light,

beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.

From World's End then he turned away

and yearned again to find afar

his home through shadows journeying,

and burning as an island star

on high above the mists he came,

a distant flame before the Sun,

a wonder ere the waking dawn

where grey the Norland waters run.


And over Middle-earth he passed

and heard at last the weeping sore

of women and of elven-maids

in Elder Days, in years of yore.

But on him mighty doom was laid,

till Moon should fade, an orbéd star<
br> to pass, and tarry never more

on Hither Shores where mortals are;

for ever still a herald on

an errand that should never rest

to bear his shining lamp afar,

the Flammifer of Westernesse. Top


A Elbereth Gilthoniel


A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel<
br> o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aearon! Top


Seek for the Sword that was Broken


Seek for the Sword that was broken:

 In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

 Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

 That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

 And the Halfling forth shall stand. Top


Warning of Winter


When winter first begins to bite

 and stones crack in the frosty night,

when pools are black and trees are bare,

 'tis evil in the Wild to fare. Top


I Sit Beside the Fire and Think


I sit beside the fire and think

 of all that I have seen,

of meadow-flowers and butterflies

 in summers that have been;


Of yellow leaves and gossamer

 in autumns that there were,

with morning mist and silver sun

 and wind upon my hair.


I sit beside the fire and think

 of how the world will be

when winter comes without a spring

 that I shall ever see.



For still there are so many things

 that I have never seen:

in every wood in every spring

 there is a different green.


I sit beside the fire and think

 of people long ago,

and people who will see a world

 that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think

 of times there were before,

I listen for returning feet

 and voices at the door.



Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen!

Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen! Top


Song of Durin


The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the Moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone

When Durin woke and walked alone.

He named the nameless hills and dells;

He drank from yet untasted wells;

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadow of his head.


The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall

Of mighty kings in Nargothrond

And Gondolin, who now beyond

The Western Seas have passed away:

The world was fair in Durin's Day.


A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door.

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright.


There hammer on the anvil smote,

There chisel clove, and graver wrote;

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;

The delver mined, the mason built.

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes' mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoard.


Unwearied then were Durin's folk

Beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,

And at the gates the trumpets rang.


The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.<
br> But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere;

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep. Top


Song of Nimrodel


An Elven-maid there was of old,

 A shining star by day:

Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,

 Her shoes of silver-grey.


A star was bound upon her brows,

 A light was on her hair

As sun upon the golden boughs

 In Lórien the fair.<
br>
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,

 And fair she was and free;

And in the wind she went as light

 As leaf of linden-tree.


Beside the falls of Nimrodel,

 By water clear and cool,

Her voice as falling silver fell

 Into the shining pool.


Where now she wanders none can tell,

 In sunlight or in shade;

For lost of yore was Nimrodel

 And in the mountains strayed.


The elven-ship in haven grey

 Beneath the mountain-lee

Awaited her for many a day

 Beside the roaring sea.


A wind by night in Northern lands

 Arose, and loud it cried,

And drove the ship from elven-strands

 Across the streaming tide.


When dawn came dim the land was lost,

 The mountains sinking grey

Beyond the heaving waves that tossed

 Their plumes of blinding spray.


Amroth beheld the fading shore

 Now low beyond the swell,

And cursed the faithless ship that bore

 Him far from Nimrodel.


Of old he was an Elven-king,

 A lord of tree and glen,

When golden were the boughs in spring

 In fair Lothlórien.<
br>
From helm to sea they saw him leap,

 As arrow from the string,

And dive into the water deep,

 As mew upon the wing.


The wind was in his flowing hair,

 The foam about him shone;

Afar they saw him strong and fair

 Go riding like a swan.


But from the West has come no word,

 And on the Hither Shore

No tidings Elven-folk have heard

 Of Amroth evermore. Top


Frodo's Lament for Gandalf


When evening in the Shire was grey

his footsteps on the Hill were heard;

before the dawn he went away

on journey long without a word.


From Wilderland to Western shore,

from northern waste to southern hill,

through dragon-lair and hidden door

and darkling woods he walked at will.


With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,

with mortal and immortal folk,

with bird on bough and beast in den,

in their own secret tongues he spoke.


A deadly sword, a healing hand,

a back that bent beneath its load;

a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,

a weary pilgrim on the road.


A lord of wisdom throned he sat,

swift in anger, quick to laugh;

an old man in a battered hat

who leaned upon a thorny staff.


He stood upon the bridge alone

and Fire and Shadow both defied;

his staff was broken on the stone,

in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

The finest rockets ever seen:

they burst in stars of blue and green,

or after thunder golden showers

came falling like a rain of flowers. Top


Galadriel's Song of Eldamar


I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:

Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.

Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,

And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.

Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,

In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.

There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,

While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.

O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;

The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.

O Lórien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore

And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.

But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,

What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?



Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,

Yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!

Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier

mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva

Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar

nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni

ómaryo airetári-lírinen.


Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?


An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo

ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë

ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;

ar sindanóriello caita mornië

i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.

Si vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!


Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.

Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië! Top