She sang of leaves – of leaves of gold. And there the Mallorn grew –
The forest of Lothlorien with bark of silvered hue.
Now if I wished to gaze upon Galadriel’s beauty:
I cannot. She’s long departed on white ships over the sea.
Lothlorien – and nowhere else – the graceful Mallorn grew
Do yet the Mallorn there abide? I answer that: they do.
Is Calas Galadhon still there? To this I answer: nay
The aboreal city has lain empty to this day.
The Mallorn trees are empty now – for all the elves have gone
They marched to war – and died. Or when returned – they journeyed on.
The Valar have rescinded at long last their drear exile
No more their father’s sins can penalise them or defile.
To Eldamar they came again by ship across the seas
For Mandos’ Doom has been outworked, the Valar are appeased.
The elven lords and maidens have returned back to their home
On white ships launched from Grey Havens across the surging foam.
Lothlorien lives but in song. But are those songs still sung?
No power to preserve is left. No more the elven tongue
Is heard. For all the elves have gone, like birds they’ve taken wing
With Galadriel to Eldamar, in white ships which them bring.
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