J R R Tolkien

The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked along

The Road goes ever on and on    Down from the door where it began
Now far ahead the Road has gone,    And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,    Until it joins some larger
Where many paths and errands meet

To the Sea, to the Sea
The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying
West, west away, the round sun is falling

Farewell we call to hearth and hall
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away ere break of
Far over wood and mountain tall

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golde...

Where now is the horse and the rider
Where is the horn that was blowing
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark