Date: Fri Jun 7 13:31:49 2024 +0000 Initial commit diff --git a/index.html b/index.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2515a87 --- /dev/null +++ b/index.html @@ -0,0 +1,222 @@ + + + + + + The Trees of Kortirion + + + + +

The Trees of Kortirion

+ +

Alalminórë

+ O ancient city on a leaguered hill!
+ Old shadows linger in your broken gate,
+ Your stones are grey, your old halls now are still,
+ Your towers silent in the mist await
+ Their crumbling end, while through the storeyed elms
+ The River Gliding leaves these inland realms
+ And slips between long meadows to the Sea,
+ Still bearing down by weir and murmuring fall
+ One day and then another to the Sea;
+ And slowly thither many days have gone
+ Since first the Edain built Kortirion. +

+ Kortirion! Upon your island hill
+ With winding streets, and alleys shadow-walled
+ Where even now the peacocks pace in drill
+ Majestic, sapphirine and emerald,
+ Once long ago amid this sleeping land
+ Of silver rain, where still year-laden stand
+ In unforgetful earth the rooted trees
+ That cast long shadows in the bygone noon,
+ And whispered in the swiftly passing breeze,
+ Once long ago, Queen of the Land of Elms,
+ High City were you of the Inland Realms. +

+ Your trees in summer you remember still:
+ The willow by the spring, the beech on hill;
+ The rainy poplars, and the frowning yews
+ Within your aged courts that muse
+ In sombre splendour all the day,
+ Until the firstling star comes glimmering,
+ And flittermice go by on silent wing;
+ Until the white moon slowly climbing sees
+ In shadow-fields the sleep-enchanted trees
+ Night-mantled all in silver-grey.
+ Alalminor! Here was your citadel,
+ Ere bannered summer from his fortress fell;
+ About you stood arrayed your host of elms:
+ Green was their armour, tall and green their helms,
+ High lords and captains of the trees.
+ But summer wanes. Behold, Kortirion!
+ The elms their full sail now have crowded on
+ Ready to the winds, like masts amid the vale
+ Of mighty ships too soon, too soon, to sail
+ To other days beyond these sunlit seas. +

+ +

Narquelion

+ Alalminórë! Green heart of this Isle
+ Where linger yet the Faithful Companies!
+ Still undespairing here they slowly file
+ Down lonely paths with solemn harmonies:
+ The Fair, the first-born in an elder day,
+ Immortal Elves, who singing on their way
+ Of bliss of old and grief, though men forget,
+ Pass like a wind among the rustling trees,
+ A wave of bowing grass, and men forget
+ Their voices calling from a time we do not know,
+ Their gleaming hair like sunlight long ago. +

+ A wind in the grass! The turning of the year.
+ A shiver in the reeds beside the stream,
+ A whisper in the trees - afar they hear,
+ Piercing the heart of summer’s tangled dream,
+ Chill music that a herald piper plays
+ FOreseeing winter and the leafless days.
+ The late flowers trembling on the ruined walls
+ Already stoop to hear that elven-flute.
+ Through the wood’s sunny aisles and tree-propped halls
+ Winding amid the green with clear cold note
+ Like a thin strand of silver glass remote. +

+ The high-tide ebbs, the year will soon be spent;
+ And all your trees, Kortirion, lament.
+ At morn the whetstone rang upon the blade,
+ At eve the grass and golden flowers were laid
+ To wither, and the meadows bare.
+ Now dimmed already comes the tardier dawn,
+ Paler the sunlight fingers creep across the lawn.
+ The days are passing. Gone like moths the nights
+ When white wings fluttering danced like satellites
+ Round tapers in the windless air.
+ Lammas is gone. The Harvest-moon has waned.
+ Summer is dying that so briefly reigned.
+ Now the proud elms at last begin to quail,
+ Their leaves uncounted tremble and grow pale,
+ Seeing afar the icy spears
+ Of winter march to battle with the sun.
+ When bright All-Hallows fades, their day is done,
+ And borne on wings of amber wan they fly
+ In heedless winds beneath the sullen sky,
+ And fall like dying birds among the meres. +

+ +

Hrívion

+ Alas! Kortirion, Queen of Elms, alas!
+ This season best befits your ancient town
+ With echoing voices sad that slowly pass,
+ Winding with waning music faintly down
+ The paths of standing mist. O fading time,
+ When morning rises late all hoar with rime,
+ And early shadows veil the distant woods!
+ Unseen the Elves go by, their shining hair
+ They cloak in twilight under secret hoods
+ Of grey, their dusk-blue mantles gird with bands
+ Of frosted starlight sewn by silver hands. +

+ At night they dance beneath the roofless sky,
+ When naked elms entwine in branching lace
+ The Seven Stars, and through the boughs the eye
+ Stares down cold-gleaming in the high moon’s face.
+ O Elder Kindred, fair immortal folk!
+ You sing now ancient songs that once awoke
+ Under primeval stars before the Dawn;
+ You dance like shimmering shadows in the wind,
+ As once you danced upon the shining lawn
+ Of Elvenhome, before we were, before
+ You crossed wide seas uno the mortal shore. +

+ Now are your trees, old grey Kortirion,
+ Through pallid mists seen rising tall and wan,
+ Like vessels vague that slowly drift afar
+ Out, out to empty seas beyond the bar
+ Of cloudy ports forlorn;
+ Leaving behind for ever havens loud,
+ Wherein their crews a while held feasting proud
+ In lordly ease, they now like windy ghosts
+ Are wafted by cold airs to friendless coasts,
+ And silent down the tide are borne.
+ Bare has your realm become, Kortirion,
+ Stripped of its raiment, and its splendour gone.
+ Like lighted tapers in a darkened fane
+ The funeral candles of the Silver Wain
+ Now flare above the fallen year.
+ Winter is come. Beneath the barren sky
+ The Elves are silent. But they do not die!
+ Here waiting they endure the winter fell
+ And silence. Here I too will dwell;
+ Kortirion, I will meet the winter here. +

+ +

Mettanyë

+ I would not find the burning domes and sands
+ Where reigns the sun, nor dare the deadly snows,
+ Nor seek in mountains dark the hidden lands
+ Of men long lost to whom no pathway goes;
+ I heed no call of clamant bell that rings
+ Iron-tongues in the towers of earthly kings.
+ Here on the stones and trees there lies a spell
+ Of unforgotten loss, of memory more blest
+ Than mortal wealth. Here undefeated dwell
+ The Folk Immortal under withered elms,
+ Alalminórë once in ancient realms. +

+ + + \ No newline at end of file