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