Doriath

Cold and despair, chilling winds stray in deserted domes,
Time has destroyed the beauty of yours, Doriath.
Time writes the runes of crackles on your dusty walls,
Tells the grandsons Fate has stopped your heart.

You don't remember the land that was joyful and great,
Years of Men look like droplets of rain at spring.
Why do you, minstrel, keep silence? Please take to the play,
Playing will suddenly break up at this grievous string.

Stones and trees keep in memory Luthien's face,
Once and again they recall it while talking of her,
They all remember your nights and your long dying days,
Ah, Doriath, your grandeur will live never more!

Just as before, the Sun rises above the tops,
Bitterly beams roam over the dwelling of dead,
As if a prayer was read in the rustle of boughs,
As if somebody foresaw the beginning of end.

Sing, you minstrel, your song is a wonderful gift.
The Past can't be back , even within the poetic art.
Sing everything what you loved, saw and overlived,
But never sing of an alien land - Doriath.