Hiraeth
An Elven verse of longing and indecision

Within the treeholm, cool and green,
Where solitude makes quiet peace,
Naught stirs the quiet of rill or dene;
Desire fades safely in its keeping.
Yet still the longing will not cease
For blue wave and the watery sheen,
It calls my heart with no release
At Sun's awaking or Moon's sleeping.

But when the Moon draws back the tide
He drags upon my soul as well,
When the siren call is cried
My heart is ever seaward turning.
Whither my path, I cannot tell,
Yet I loiter by Mirrormede's side,
While Ilúvatar calls from the ocean swell,
I linger still, seeking – yearning!