Our twilight comes; our day is dying.
The dusk gathers and the breeze is sighing.
The twilight is sorrowful and brief,
yet it is fair amid its grief.
The Eldar love the eve over morrow,
yet in all things now love is mingled with sorrow.
For all shall fade in the dark of night.

I sing in Lórien, the land of light,
that peaceful, fair and timeless realm.
Yet in Lórien too does twilight overwhelm.
In Lothlórien the leaves are falling,
swirling to the ground, and winter is calling.
The winter comes now, stark and grey.

All too swiftly the river flows away.
The golden dream is fading, to a grey waking,
The time has flown, the day and glory taking.
Our songs were sung in ages past,
Now all these things must fail at last.

Night comes softly and shadows rest.
A pale light lingers in the west.
Then all fades into starless night.
But in the West all things are bright.
I will sail, and leave this shadowy strand,
to dwell forever in the Western Land.

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