Disclaimer: All of Arda belong to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien.
The Valier
The number of their names
is infinite, so it's said,
as many, at
least,
as there are breathes
in an Elvish life,
or silent grains of
sand
since time began,
or drops of rain.
I've been singing
since the day I was born.
Still, I'll never
manage
to complete the litany
of these faces, and melodies,
and voices
that whisper
to the Eternal Feminine.
Dusky Vairë, an artist
and historian,
drew me into the
labyrinth
with a silver thread.
And swift Nessa
led me out
again:
she pierced me with laughter
and green sunbeams.
Vána is the stirring,
the flash out of the blue.
Maidenly
Nienna,
stronger than tears,
more ancient than hope.
And Yavanna is the
root
for all the flowers.
Varda the conflagration,
the tempest and the rose:
Ah
Elbereth!
A glance of her eyes
would blind one with joy.
And at last,
when the music was lulled,
barely to be heard,
and the
heart
had broken its fill,
then Estë laid her fingers
upon my
forehead,
and I slept
as softly as snow.
--after Jaroslav Seifert
