Light as Leaf on Lindentree

Light as Leaf on Lindentree

The leaves were long, the grass was thin,
The fall of many years lay thick,
The tree-roots twisted out and in,
The rising moon was glimmering.
Her feet went lilting light and quick
To the silver flute of Ilverin:
Beneath the hemlock-umbels thick
Tinúviel was shimmering.

The noiseless moths their wings did fold,
The light was lost among the leaves,
As Beren there from mountains cold
Came wandering and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment took his weary feet,
That over stone were doomed to roam,
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods of Elvenhome
They fled on swiftly dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam,
In the silent forest listening.

He heard at times the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden leaves,
Or music welling underground

In the hidden halls of Doriath.
But withered were the hemlock sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woods of Doriath.

He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years mere thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glistened in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.

When winter passed she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
There high and clear he heard her sing,
And from him fell the minter’s chain;
No more he feared by her to spring
Upon the grass untroubling.

Again she fled, but clear he called:
Tinúviel, Tinúviel.
She halted by his voice enthralled
And stood before him shimmering.
Her doom at last there on her fell,
As in the hills the echoes called;
Tinúviel, Tinúviel,
In the arms of Beren glimmering.

As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinúviel! O elven-fair!
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And white her arms were glimmering.

Long was the way that fate them bore
O’er stony mountains cold and grey,

Through halls of iron and darkling door
And woods of night-shade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.