A/N: At long last, I'm writing something about Rivendell. I mean, I write so much Lothlórien that I thought it only fair that the Last Homely House gets a piece too.

In the deep-cloven valley of Imladris, of Rivendell,
lies the last homely house, where Elves yet dwell.
Of it many songs and stories tell,
that speak of this world of woven trees.

Cunning and ancient are those walls of stone,
on the brink of the deep vale standing lone.
present and yet remote 'tis shown,
gleaming golden in the westering sun.

The crimson sunset's ling'ring ray,
the last gleam of a fading day,
When lights are kindled in the dusk of grey,
catch those halls from the dreamy west.

Night falls, and the eve is old.
All around is lonely, cold,
but the light from the windows is shining gold.
In the House joy and music dwell.

Dark is upon the wide wide earth.
The silence surrounds, but inside is mirth.
The night is cold, but warm is the hearth.
What wanderer weary would pass it by?

Rivendell! Imladris fair!
The memory of ancient things is there,
and sorrowing ones forget their care,
in the golden valley of Rivendell.

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