LUTHIEN TINUVIEL AND DAERON THE MINSTREL
A moonbeam slants down, the leaves whisper in their strange tongue
Upon the grass below walks a maiden fair, neither old, nor young
Shadowy locks fall gently, descending like the night
White gems pierce out of her hair, catching the starlight
Silver eyes peer out of a beautiful face
The Beloved of the Elves, fairest of all her race
She begins to dance, and behold! For on the grass
Where light and slender her feet pass
Flowers spring forth, glowing and fair
She picks one up and places it in her hair
The gold gleams from the black, catching his eye
As he comes out to watch the stars in the sky
The minstrel sets his harp aside and stares
He is caught by her fairness unawares
Never had Daeron looked at her this way
Never before had come a day
When he saw her so clear, her loveliness so sharp
To compose a tune, an ode to her beauty, he picks up the harp
Notes fall from his fingers so gentle and skilled
Her ears catch the music, and her dance is stilled
She peers in vain for the player, but hidden is he
Even her sharp Elven eyes the minstrel fails to see
The new tune catches her, and she is again swept away
To dance under the leaves until the light of day
Nothing does she know of what is coming to her
Nothing does Daeron know of another
One who will come to take the Elven beauty's hand
One who will stumble into the Hidden Land
Who will from Daeron his dancing queen sever
Who will sunder her from the Elves forever
Unaware, she dances, weaving to the tune
Graceful as the setting sun, fairer than the Moon
Unaware, he continues to play; his tune flows on and on
Continuing to stream from the harp, until the approach of dawn
The rays of light touch upon the magic glade
Finally, his music stops, and her dance is stayed
She stands upon the green, her face turned to the Sun
He stands among the trees, for tonight their play is done
She turns and springs lightly away, back to her father's halls
From her black tresses, a single flower falls
Lifting it from the grass, he gazes at the gold
The blossom flowered in his hand until the hand grew cold
For when she fled with Beren, Daeron left Doriath to roam
He ventured into lonely lands and wandered far from home
He died alone, singing of her grace
Perishing from the face of the Earth, fairest minstrel of his race
Never has such beautiful music been heard since Daeron fell
He lived and died for the love he bore to Luthien Tinuviel.
-Achala Upendran.
A moonbeam slants down, the leaves whisper in their strange tongue
Upon the grass below walks a maiden fair, neither old, nor young
Shadowy locks fall gently, descending like the night
White gems pierce out of her hair, catching the starlight
Silver eyes peer out of a beautiful face
The Beloved of the Elves, fairest of all her race
She begins to dance, and behold! For on the grass
Where light and slender her feet pass
Flowers spring forth, glowing and fair
She picks one up and places it in her hair
The gold gleams from the black, catching his eye
As he comes out to watch the stars in the sky
The minstrel sets his harp aside and stares
He is caught by her fairness unawares
Never had Daeron looked at her this way
Never before had come a day
When he saw her so clear, her loveliness so sharp
To compose a tune, an ode to her beauty, he picks up the harp
Notes fall from his fingers so gentle and skilled
Her ears catch the music, and her dance is stilled
She peers in vain for the player, but hidden is he
Even her sharp Elven eyes the minstrel fails to see
The new tune catches her, and she is again swept away
To dance under the leaves until the light of day
Nothing does she know of what is coming to her
Nothing does Daeron know of another
One who will come to take the Elven beauty's hand
One who will stumble into the Hidden Land
Who will from Daeron his dancing queen sever
Who will sunder her from the Elves forever
Unaware, she dances, weaving to the tune
Graceful as the setting sun, fairer than the Moon
Unaware, he continues to play; his tune flows on and on
Continuing to stream from the harp, until the approach of dawn
The rays of light touch upon the magic glade
Finally, his music stops, and her dance is stayed
She stands upon the green, her face turned to the Sun
He stands among the trees, for tonight their play is done
She turns and springs lightly away, back to her father's halls
From her black tresses, a single flower falls
Lifting it from the grass, he gazes at the gold
The blossom flowered in his hand until the hand grew cold
For when she fled with Beren, Daeron left Doriath to roam
He ventured into lonely lands and wandered far from home
He died alone, singing of her grace
Perishing from the face of the Earth, fairest minstrel of his race
Never has such beautiful music been heard since Daeron fell
He lived and died for the love he bore to Luthien Tinuviel.
-Achala Upendran.