Beneath the sighing leaves of gold,
beside the banks where blooms unfold,
there runs a clear and crystal stream,
and on its foam the sun does gleam.

A rainbow shimmers on its falls.
The laughing water singing calls.
And on its foam the flowers float,
more fair and light than elven-boat.

An elven-maid beside it dwells,
the one of whom an old song tells.
And in the rushing stream her song
is caught and sung and echoed long.

The stream is cold, its touch is clean,
beyond it mallorn-trees are seen.
All wanderers weary here find rest,
in river hallowed, woodland blest.

The stream of wonder ceaseless sings,
an endless melody that wings
through trees with blossoms in their hair,
o'er land of Lórien the fair.

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