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J R R
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In the willow-meads of Tasarinan I walked in the Spring.
Ah! The sight and smell of the Spring in Nantasarion!
And I said that was good.
I wandered in Summer in the elm-woods of Ossiriand.
Ah! The light and the music in the Summer by the Seven Rivers of Ossir!
And I thought that was best.
To the beeches of Neldoreth I came in the Autumn.
Ah! The gold and red and the sighing of leaves in the Autumn in Taur-na-neldor!
It was more than my desire.
To the pine-trees upon the highland of Dorthonion I climbed in Winter.
Ah! The wind and the whiteness and the black branches of Winter upon Orod-na-Thon!
My voice went up and sang in the sky.
And now all those lands lie under the wave,
And I walk in Ambarona, in Tauremorna, in Aldalome,
In my own land, in the country of Fangorn,
Where the roots are long,
And the years lie thicker than leaves
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