The Sea Maid's Dance

The intricate shadows wove stars in her hair,

As her spell she cast o'er him, eyes proud, grey, and fair;

Merrily she danced on silvery feet,

As elusive laughter rang past the bubbling creek;

He caught up her hands and danced too, possessed,

And her eyes starry shone like her ruby-flecked dress.

He gave her the stars, he gave her the sky,

A city of marble, a pageful of sighs—

But still out of reach, she danced away,

Guarding her love for another day;

For this sea-maiden would not be tamed,

A temptress she'd be, and always remain.

But he had a few spells of his own he could cast!

And sea-maid was entrapped in a love-web, at last;

Her dark hair lay smothered with a white, frosty veil;

She said her goodbyes—and away she sailed;

The waves and the birds called their sweet, faint farewells;

And the sand upon which her light footsteps fell,

Was never again as it had once been,

For playful playmate had been taken from them.

And so sea-maiden danced as of old,

But found that the city of black, white and gold,

Chained silver manacles upon her fleet feet—

She could dance but short distance, to her silent-felt grief.

And near loomed Shadows that darkened the day,

Seeping from the East where cold whispers lay—

But ever was he there, to chase away tears,

As his summer-calm words assuaged nightly fears.

But too soon she had borne, and could bear no more,

Alas! by her cell there emerged a door—

The sea-maid, once free, now broken and tamed,

Escape quickly grasped, accepting cruel bargain,

And on her deathbed was mournfully lain,

A song on her lips, of hopes and dreams slain;

But kissing her brow, he sang to her still,

Of mirrorless waters, a nightingale's trill;

Of diamond tears, both happy and free;

Of dancing on moonlit nights in the breeze;

Of gifts of stars, and gifts of skies;

Of gifts of marble, and gifts of sighs.

And she once more smiled, at the very last—

Held her husband's hand near and fast—

And gaily her spirit answered the call,

And flew on swift wings to Mandos' hall.

But Denethor held still the white hand in his,

And shed bitter tears for what was and what is.