A/N: Inspired by the idea of Faramir dreaming of Númenor.

Lament for Númenor

First birthed beneath the glorious sun
For mighty deeds and battles done—
Small ripples played across the waves;
Marred Arda trembled 'neath His gaze—
Behold! arising silently,
His light-suffused, proud artistry—
I dream of fairest Númenor.

O towers, shine! Skilled craftsmen, build!
Sailors, with wind may your sails be filled!
Tall sea-kings, lead! Wise men, create!
Busy your hands; look not to fate!
The kindly lights of Elvenhome
Send guiding words on waves of foam—
I dream of rising Númenor.

Now shines the city, fair and whole;
Gold joy pervades, and glories grow;
From jewel-strewn shores and towers starred,
Brave men take leave to seek afar.
Now wisdom learns; old follies burn;
Sweet light and peace the land has earned—
I dream of noontide Númenor.

Yet 'midst their highest, glorious time,
Men sit and muse on immortal rhyme;
Kings trace their noble ancestry,
And long for that which ought to be:
The everlasting Elven light—
To reach and grasp eternal life—
I dream of thirsting Númenor.

The trumpets call, the ships set sail,
The men stand armed in glitt'ring mail;
Unfurled, the golden banners fly,
And softly sing that doom is nigh.
Undaunted, to the West men go
To wrest birthright from fancied foe—
I dream of proudest Númenor.

Now creeping through my fitful sleep:
Chill visions dark of waters deep;
And sea-waves, topped with foam, do rise—
In greedy jaws snatch grim their prize;
Belated cries for help resound,
Yet who now can save the too-proud drowned?
I dream of fallen Númenor—

And weep for that which is no more.