Elven Passing

  
 


Another westward wind is weeping,
Another silver sail is spent.
The widest waters cannot keep them,
Whose souls to the eternal West are sent.

On silver crests their ships do whisper,
On wondrous ways they are swiftly borne.
Away this waste of fruitless wither,
To a sweeter land the Elves are drawn.

Yet we of here may never thither,
Nor they beyond to us return.
The higher way from us is hidden,
The other shore we long may yearn.

Till beyond the End our days are parting,
On paths that nevermore shall meet.
From memory to dust are passing,
The very last of elven feet.



 

This article was published in Amon Hen 165 (2000).

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