Wilderness of Voices
Hail, the exactness of the image!
The sweet venom, dire in its unflinching gaze;
Wherefore are the towers that stand,
Where be the signal fires that set alight the stage?
Gaze upon the wings of Those Who Seek,
Take none but Hate and Malice to war;
The Lord and Master shall make fall the grandeur,
No sweet smelling herb may yet heal the scar.
Hail, most terrible One and Only!
A Call most masterfull and grand;
Advance not, lest the Old Magic strike thee down,
Run not, for Despair has set his gaze upon the land!
Let this be for murder and heart-rending!
Woe to those who seek the Light;
Woe to he that travels beyond the boundary,
Face grandeur of the sweet venom dire.
Woe to those who take up arms,
Fear the terrible sound;
Woe to Free Peoples and Elves and Trees,
What's lost has now been found!