In Lorien I longed to dwell,
In Golden Wood near Nimrodel.
Where many fields of Elanor
Grace upon the forest floor,
And many leaves of golden hue
Greet the morning with shinning dew.
Between the silver trunks of trees
There blows a timeless, enchanting breeze.
Power blesses every rock and stone
By an unsurpassed people most renown.
The elves, the elves so full of grace,
Who touched this earth as the first race;
Never to die by the passing ages,
The first to put history and lore on pages.
Their faces are both young and fair,
And most have golden locks of hair.
Their sweet voices sing out in lamentation
Of those who fell under Sauron’s domination.
And here abides Galadriel,
Grandmother of Evenstar Undomiel.
She controls Nenya, a Ring of Power,
Protector of Lorien from the Dark Lord in his tower.
The Fellowship came to them once in the past,
On a quest to help the world last.
Once Frodo had completed his calling,
The old world had completed in falling.
Then all power began to fade,
And the elves left Lorien an empty glade.
Their memory will forever be sung
As the time of Men had now begun.
They crossed over the seas to the Undying Lands,
To land in Aman on stunning sands.
There they now live on the Blessed Realm’s shore,
And forever sing of Caras Galadhon in Valinor.