For passing where the days, my friend
|
and doomed the nights,
|
when flitting ghostmoths danced
|
round tapers in the moveless air.
|
|
And doomed already were,
|
the radiant dawns,
|
the odour and the noise of meads
|
and all about is night.
|
|
One moment now may give us more
|
than fifty years of reason,
|
our minds shall drink of every pore
|
the spirit of the season
|
|
To her fair works did nature link
|
the human souls that through me ran
|
and much it grieved my heart to think
|
what I can make of man.
|
|
You look around on Middle-Earth
|
as if she for no purpose bore you,
|
as if you were her first-born birth,
|
and none had lived before you.
|
|
I sit upon this old grey stone,
|
and dream my time away.
|
|
-----------------
|
Kortirion Among The Trees
|
| Summoning |
