The Shire – A poem of the true beauty of this small land. To be sung long after the light of the Shire has flickered and died.

by Sep 1, 2002Poetry

There is a place in Middle Earth
Of green and rolling hills.
A place of warm and sunny mirth
Where cares and sorrows fly away
Through grazing fields and water mills
Where voices rise in song to say:

O Shire sweet, O Shire fair!
Where flowers dance upon the air
In shoes of lace, with tiny feet
`Pon hill and dale to song so sweet!

There is a place where in it lain
Are burrows `neath the ground
With comfy chair and leaping flame
With great arched beams of timber fell
And rustic treasures hidden `round
The Hobbit-holes where Halfling dwell.

O Shire blithe, O Shire green!
Sun ever clothed in dazzling sheen
Amidst the blue and gleaming sky
Where balmy breezes softly sigh.

There is a place where voices float
In bustling market square
Of humming thralls and wickering goat
Where eager faces smile to meet
The wafting smells upon the air
Down merchant-filled and stony street.

O Shire fine, O Shire small!
Where no shadow lurk at all
Where butterfly perch on the grass
`Neath sky as pale as Elven-glass.

There is a place where green woodland
Are swathed in shimm’ring dew
Where gnarled and ancient oak still stand
Like an endless emerald sea
Untouched by all save Elven croon
Riding dew pearled melody!

O Shire bright, O Shire clear!
Perched `pon slivery mountain sheer
Clouds round it shining head, it seems
Realm only found in fairest dreams!

There is a place where gold and pearl
Under cobweb’s silky arms
Deep lines of tarnish slowly curl
Replaced by gems of much more worth-
The simple pleasures, careless charms-
To smile and laugh in joyous mirth!

O Shire humble, Shire great!
An entrance to love’s garden gate
Free of sorrow, free of care
Life blossoming most everywhere!

There is a place where northern lands
Are under glist’ning brow
Sun clothing them in golden strands
Where white clouds drift like lacy tufts
And bright moon rides her ivory prow
While polishing her silver cusp!

So come my friend and take my hand!
And we shall wander these fair lands
A green pasture in a world of grief
May be our visits never brief!

O Shire gleaming, Shire bright!
A star of hope in endless night
The precious jewel of every heart
May Lord save this haven from the dark.


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Found in Home 5 Reading Room 5 Poetry 5 The Shire – A poem of the true beauty of this small land. To be sung long after the light of the Shire has flickered and died.

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