How can they call them storerooms,
Or think they are mere caves?
There's far more beauty there to find
Than their credit ever gave.
How darkness flees before the torch,
The flames run round the room!
A thousand suns are shining bright
And they see not a one.
Wand'ring blind through paradise
Like the horses that they tend
They give no thought for crystal vein,
Sultry eye of veiled gem.
Ah, give me time and give me tools!
I'll show you where they've been,
And palaces of king or prince
Would be as beggar's tin.
How can they call them storerooms?
Such shame assigning worth,
For treating as a common clod
The gem of Middle Earth.
