Ah, Perian, ah, Perian--
Had I been child of Melian,
The nightingale Tinuviel,
Mistress of many an Elvish spell
Of "woven paces and waving hands"
That shattered Bauglir's iron bands,
Might I have healed thy wounded heart,
Unpierced by Sauron's venomed dart
Yet poisoned still? Nay--power-lust woken
May by Love's power alone be broken;
The only binding Ring to bear
The endless circle lovers wear.
For mortals none, of "feet pursuing,"
Walk a round Road for Death's undoing--
Their Way goes on to Age and Rest,
And onward still, to Life unguessed.
This women know, of every race,
And each must teach her man the grace,
Calling the venturer home with, "See--
True treasure: hearth and child on knee."
Lord of the Ring, lord of my heart,
Too deep hath sunk the sorcerous dart--
Beyond King-touch, Elf-craft, Doom-fire
(But what of innocent desire?)
We never met; and now the Sea
Bears thee from Middle-Earth and me--
To hope and healing? May't be so.
Lone to my bed again I go
And arms about its bolster drape
In strange-familiar circle-shape...
A feeble, fleshly, failing thing--
The only one enduring Ring.