Young love, when did thee old grow,
Thy seed was planted, long ago,
And now thy hue of elven mist
Is lost, for him cold death hath kiss’d.
Grey moon, all of thy constant life,
Thee saw him live, make me his wife,
And love’d thy ever changing face,
As under you, we did embrace.
Cold wind, what lament do thee sing,
For passed is autumn, passed is spring,
And the richness of my years,
Hath flowed away, become my tears.
Night sky, all of thy stars are falied
And thy midnight hour is hailed,
And the new day wakes the sunless dawn,
And the elanor doth my cold limbs adorn.
Old boughs, why to stand this day,
And watch life rulled, the cherished way,
And I lay down my mortal head,
“Estel! Estel!” But he is dead.