Luthien Tinuviel

"The leaves were long, the grass was green,

The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,

And in the glade a light was

Of stars in shadow shimmering.

Tinuviel was dancing

To music of a pipe unseen,

And light of stars was in her hair,

And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold.

And lost he wandered under leaves,

And where the Elven-river

He walked alone and sorrowing.

He peered between the

And saw in wonder flowers of

Upon her mantle and her sleeves,

And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary

That over hills were doomed to roam;

And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,

And grasped at moonbeams glistening.

Through woven woods in

She lightly fled on dancing feet,

And left him lonely still to

In the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying

Of feet as light as linden-leaves,

Or music welling underground,

In hidden hollows quavering.

Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,

And one by one with sighing

Whispering fell the beachen

In wintry woodland wavering.

He sought her ever, wandering

Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,

By light of moon and ray of

In frosty heavens shivering.

Her mantle glinted in the moon,

As on a hill-top high and

She danced, and at her feet was strewnA mist of silver quivering.

When winter passed, she came again,

And her song released the sudden spring,

Like rising lark, and falling rain,

And melting water bubbling.

He saw the elven-flowers

About her feet, and healed

He longed by her to dance and

Upon the grass untroubling.

Again she fled, but swift he came,

Tinuviel!

Tinuviel!

He called her by her elvish name;

And there she halted listening.

One moment stood she, and a

His voice laid on her:

Beren came,

And doom fell on

That in his arms lay glistening.

As Beren looked into her

Within the shadows of her hair,

The trembling starlight of the

He saw there mirrored shimmering.

Tinuviel the elven-fair,

Immortal maiden elven-wise,

About him cast her shadowy

And arms like silver glimmering.

Long was the way that fate them bore,

O'er stony mountains cold and grey,

Through halls of iron and darkling door,

And woods of nightshade morrowless.

The Sundering Seas between them lay,

And yet at last they met once more,

And long ago they passed

In the forest singing sorrowless."Controversy reigns over the word raiment in the last line of the first stanza.

The word is correct as used and means garments or the clothes in which someone is arrayed.

It has nothing to do with rain(ment).