Today’s Poem

Durin

The world was young, the mountains green, / No stain yet on the Moon was seen, / No words were laid on stream or stone / When Durin woke and walked alone. / He named the nameless hills and dells; / He drank from yet untasted wells; / He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, / And saw a crown of stars appear, / As gems upon a silver thread, / Above the shadow of his head

The world was fair, the mountains tall, / In Elder Days before the fall. / Of mighty kings of Nargothrond / And Gondolin, who now beyond / The Western Seas have passed away; / The world was fair in Durin’s Day.

A king he was on carven throne / In many-pillared halls of stone / With golden roof and silver floor, / And runes of power upon the door. / The light of sun and star and moon / In shining lamps of crystal hewn / Undimmed by cloud or shade of night / There shone for ever fair and bright.

There hammer on the anvil smote, / There chisel clove, and graver wrote, / There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; / The delver mined, the mason built, / There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, / And metal wrought like fishes’ mail, / Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, / And shining spears were laid in hoard.

Unwearied then were Durin’s folk; / Beneath the mountains music woke: / The harpers harped, the minstrels sang / And at the gates the trumpets rang.

The world is grey, the mountains old, / The forge’s fire is ashen cold; / No harp is wrung, no hammer falls, / The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls; / The shadow lies upon his tomb / In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. / But still the sunken stars appear / In dark and windless Mirrormere; / There lies his crown in water deep, / Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

— J.R. Tolkein, Lord of The Rings, Book 2 Chapter 4

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