In silence dwarves have carved your face in stone
Where you can watch sunrise ev’ry morning.
Where songs of birds by the east wind are blown
To you like the pilgrims that come mourning.
From afar they come to show their respect,
To the fair lady the wood-elves extol.
And with their words of silver tongues affect
The hardened hearts of goblin, orc and troll.
Into the hated sun the monsters walk
To curse themselves and lament with their foe
And draw flowers on your stone dress with chalk.
But all their sympathy won’t ease my woe.
I keep wand’ring under starry night skies –
To follow your light when my body dies.