Lothlórien
Through Moria, where the Balrog waits
After passing through its cursèd gates
Sweet Nimrodel, the laughing stream,
Joins Celebrant and its watery reams
Into Lórien, it flows through
Known to many, yet seen by few
First to Cerin Amroth in its flight
Ringed with trees of snowy white,
Then encircled with Mallorn-trees,
'round the mound where Amroth sleeps
hillside grown with Niphridel,
and the stars of Elanor,
in the domain of Galadriel
and the wise Lord Celeborn
Caras Galadhon, city of Elves
Their singing like the sound of bells
The forest floor lined with a silvery path
The Celebrant crossed with a white-rimmed lath
The gold-leaved trees like living towers
Bright lights dot the tiers like flowers
Lórien's roots growing strong and deep
Forest blossoms cease their sleep
Soft grey trunks lined with steps
Their branches carrying many flets
The Galadhrim finding their homes
In the Mallorn's mighty boughs
Protected naught by Elven arrow
But by ring forged long ago,
Nenya, on the hand of Galadriel
Who caught the light of Eärendil
From the fountain, where her mirror lies
Showing the past, present, and what may yet arise
In these lands time does not reap
Holding these woods not in its keep
Seasons but a ripple in age's long stream
While Lothlórien is left to fade its gleam
When Nenya's power begins to wane
The Elves' ring became their bane
Going now to land of old
Where Mallorn-trees no longer grow
Their sadness deep as they leave the land
To build grey ships on gold-hued sands
Giving middle-earth to the race of men
To diminish their threat and remember when
The Elder days were at hand
And the Valley of Laurelindórenan