First Poem – Athelas When the black breath blows and death’s shadow grows and all lights pass, come athelas! come athelas! Life to the dying In the king’s hand lying!
When the moon was new and the sun young of silver and gold the gods sung: in the green grass they silver spilled, and the white waters they with gold filled. Ere the pit was dug or Hell yawned, ere dwarf was bred or dragon spawned, there were Elves of old, and strong spells under green hills in hollow dells they sang as they wrought many fair things, and the bright crowns of the Elf-kings. But their doom fell, and their song waned, by iron hewn and by steel chained. Greed that sang not, nor with mouth smiled, in dark holes their wealth piled, graven silver and carven gold: over Elvenhome the shadow rolled.
