White Alqualondë
The swans are taken,
you are lost,
you throw emblems in the tide
and look about you
at this battle that you knew,
the quays so pale,
the harbour stained by dusk –
But the sea retains her will:
remember – you dared her
when one star paved the water,
and you heard the great horns
and the gulls, the harbingers;
she has not withdrawn,
she has shut her hand
around this battered coast
and fixed where each rock fell,
so clearly –
You have grieved, children,
you have learned of endings,
of currents that do not return; you know,
finally, why men accept their gods;
have this comfort in Fëanor:
that he has made the sea his enemy,
and she will bear him only
as a bride long staled of love,
and her purpose will pursue him,
and she will be no road to him.