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One day and then another to the Sea;

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And slowly thither many days have gone

Since first the Edain built Kortirion.

Kortirion! Upon your island hill

With winding streets, and alleys shadow-walled

Where even now the peacocks pace in drill

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Majestic, sapphirine and emerald,

Once long ago amid this sleeping land

Of silver rain, where still year-laden stand

In unforgetful earth the rooted trees

That cast long shadows in the bygone noon,

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And whispered in the swiftly passing breeze,

Once long ago, Queen of the Land of Elms,

High City were you of the Inland Realms.

Your trees in summer you remember still:

The willow by the spring, the beech on hill;

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The rainy poplars, and the frowning yews

Within your aged courts that muse

In sombre splendour all the day,

Until the firstling star comes glimmering,

And flittermice go by on silent wing;

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Until the white moon slowly climbing sees

In shadow-fields the sleep-enchanted trees

Night-mantled all in silver-grey.

Alalminor! Here was your citadel,

Ere bannered summer from his fortress fell;

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About you stood arrayed your host of elms:

Green was their armour, tall and green their helms,

High lords and captains of the trees.

But summer wanes. Behold, Kortirion!

The elms their full sail now have crowded on

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Ready to the winds, like masts amid the vale

Of mighty ships too soon, too soon, to sail

To other days beyond these sunlit seas.

II

Narquelion*

Alalminórë! Green heart of this Isle

Where linger yet the Faithful Companies!

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Still undespairing here they slowly file

Down lonely paths with solemn harmonies:

The Fair, the first-born in an elder day,

Immortal Elves, who singing on their way

Of bliss of old and grief, though men forget,

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Pass like a wind among the rustling trees,

A wave of bowing grass, and men forget

Their voices calling from a time we do not know,

Their gleaming hair like sunlight long ago.

A wind in the grass! The turning of the year.

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A shiver in the reeds beside the stream,

A whisper in the trees—afar they hear,

Piercing the heart of summer’s tangled dream,

Chill music that a herald piper plays

Foreseeing winter and the leafless days.

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The late flowers trembling on the ruined walls

Already stoop to hear that elven-flute.

Through the wood’s sunny aisles and tree-propped halls

Winding amid the green with clear cold note

Like a thin strand of silver glass remote.

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The high-tide ebbs, the year will soon be spent;

And all your trees, Kortirion, lament.

At morn the whetstone rang upon the blade,

At eve the grass and golden flowers were laid

To wither, and the meadows bare.

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Now dimmed already comes the tardier dawn,

Paler the sunlight fingers creep across the lawn.

The days are passing. Gone like moths the nights

When white wings fluttering danced like satellites

Round tapers in the windless air.

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Lammas is gone. The Harvest-moon has waned.

Summer is dying that so briefly reigned.

Now the proud elms at last begin to quail,

Their leaves uncounted tremble and grow pale,

Seeing afar the icy spears

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Of winter march to battle with the sun.

When bright All-Hallows fades, their day is done,

And borne on wings of amber wan they fly

In heedless winds beneath the sullen sky,

And fall like dying birds upon the meres.

III

Hrívion*

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Alas! Kortirion, Queen of Elms, alas!

This season best befits your ancient town

With echoing voices sad that slowly pass,

Winding with waning music faintly down

The paths of stranded mist. O fading time,

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When morning rises late all hoar with rime,

And early shadows veil the distant woods!

Unseen the Elves go by, their shining hair

They cloak in twilight under secret hoods

Of grey, their dusk-blue mantles gird with bands

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Of frosted starlight sewn by silver hands.

At night they dance beneath