When evening in Shire was grey
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;
before the dawn he went away
on journey long without a word.
From Wilderland to West shore
From northern waste to southern hill,
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darking woods he walked at will
With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,
with motall and inmotall folk ,
with bird on bough and beast in den,
in their own secret tongues he spoke.
A deadly sword, a healing hand,
A back that bent beneath its load ;
a trumpet-voice, a burning brand ,
a weary pilgrim on the road
A lord of wisdom throned he sat ,
swift in anger,quick to laugh;
An old man in a battered hat
who leaned upon a throny staff
He stood upon the bridge alone
and Fire and Shadow both defied;
his staff was broken on the stone,
in Khazad-d?m his wisdom died.
The finest rockets ever seen:
they brust in srars blue and green,
or after thunder goldern showers
came failing, failing, failing
like a rain of flowers.