Part 5 (1/2)

65.

Then all thy trees, Kortirion, were bent, And shook with sudden whispering lament: For pa.s.sing were the days, and doomed the nights When flitting ghost-moths danced as satellites Round tapers in the moveless air;

70.

And doomed already were the radiant dawns, The fingered sunlight drawn across the lawns; The odour and the slumbrous noise of meads, Where all the sorrel, flowers, and plumed weeds Go down before the scyther's share.

75.

When cool October robed her dewy furze In netted sheen of gold-shot gossamers, Then the wide-umbraged elms began to fail; Their mourning mult.i.tude of leaves grew pale, Seeing afar the icy spears

80.

Of Winter marching blue behind the sun Of bright All-Hallows. Then their hour was done, And wanly borne on wings of amber pale They beat the wide airs of the fading vale, And flew like birds across the misty meres.

III.

85.

This is the season dearest to the heart, And time most fitting to the ancient town, With waning musics sweet that slow depart Winding with echoed sadness faintly down The paths of stranded mist. O gentle time,

90.

When the late mornings are begemmed with rime, And early shadows fold the distant woods!

The Elves go silent by, their s.h.i.+ning hair They cloak in twilight under secret hoods Of grey, and filmy purple, and long bands

95.

Of frosted starlight sewn by silver hands.

And oft they dance beneath the roofless sky, When naked elms entwine in branching lace The Seven Stars, and through the boughs the eye Stares golden-beaming in the round moon's face.

100.

O holy Elves and fair immortal Folk, You sing then ancient songs that once awoke Under primeval stars before the Dawn; You whirl then dancing with the eddying wind, As once you danced upon the s.h.i.+mmering lawn 105.

In Elvenhome, before we were, before You crossed wide seas unto this mortal sh.o.r.e.

Now are thy trees, old grey Kortirion, Through pallid mists seen rising tall and wan, Like vessels floating vague, and drifting far 110.

Down opal seas beyond the shadowy bar Of cloudy ports forlorn; Leaving behind for ever havens loud, Wherein their crews a while held feasting proud And lordly ease, they now like windy ghosts 115.

Are wafted by slow airs to windy coasts, And glimmering sadly down the tide are borne.

Bare are thy trees become, Kortirion; The rotted raiment from their bones is gone.

The seven candles of the Silver Wain, 120.

Like lighted tapers in a darkened fane, Now flare above the fallen year.

Though court and street now cold and empty lie, And Elves dance seldom neath the barren sky, Yet under the white moon there is a sound 125.

Of buried music still beneath the ground.