The Lord of the Rings

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 wonder 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 lightly 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,
   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.