In Western woods, beneath the stars,
The trees may bud in Spring;
The water falls,
And Elf-maids fair with merry finches sing.

In fastness deep, beneath the ground
A King may rule wide lands,
From spacious many pillored hall
Not shaped by any hands.

And in that hall the minstels sing
Though all outside be grey;
For there is still and Elven light
And songs both wise and gay.