In western lands beneath the
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night,
And swaying branches
The Elven-stars as jewels
Amid their branching hair.
Though here at journey's end I
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
