(Based on Thanatopsis by William Bryant)

To him who in the love of forests holds
Communion with its branched forms, it speaks
An unending language; for his brighter hours
It has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and it grows
In his darker musings with a mild
And healing endurance that steals away
His despair ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of companions' last hours come like a blight
Over his spirit, and sad images
Of their brave agony, their last breaths
And the darkness of their cairn or tomb
Make him to shudder, and grow sick at heart; -
Go forth, under the green leaves and listen
To the forest while, from all around,
Middle-earth and her waters and the depths of the air
Comes that still voice - Yet a few years and then
The all-beholding sun shall see them no more,
In all his course; nor yet upon the cold ground
Where their pale forms are laid with many tears,
Only across the embracing ocean shall exist
Their images. Middle-earth that nourished them shall claim
Their legacies to be resolved to itself again.
But you, having lost each dear companion, surrendering up
The home of thy endless youthfulness shall go
To leave these shores forever.
To be brother to the elements and the sea.
The wailing seabirds wheel above, the foaming
Waves turn and tumble in endless brightness.
The oak shall send his roots abroad,
Yet not to thine eternal place of rest
Shall he reach.  Shalt thou retire alone thou couldst not
Wish companions more magnificent.  Thou shalt be named
With patriarchs of this infant world - with Kings,
The powerful of Middle-earth - the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and brave warriors of ages past.
All in one mighty sepulchre but for thee - The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as thy people, the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods - rivers that move
In majesty, and the Entwash that
Makes this forest green; and poured round it all
Singing oceans grey and melancholy beauty.
All are but passing through the ages, all
Of them leading to the age of Man.  The silver light,
Earendil shining among the infinite starry host
Will shine upon the silent abodes of thy friends
Through the still lapse of the ages. All that remember
Their voices will be but a handful to those
That forget. - Take the wings
Of morning and the stately spread of this wood,
Lose thyself in the continuous roll of the Anduin,
Hearing no sound but its own dashings - yet -
The dead will be remembered in these solitudes.
Recall how your first flights of years began, how
After thy departure the dead shall reign there alone.
So shalt thou finally rest - and what if thou withdraw
Unheeded by others then living and only one friend
Take note of thy departure?  All that breathe
Must find their own destiny.  The trees will grow
When thou art gone, the oceans waves will
Continue on, and each one as before will chase
The foam of the one before him.  All these in
Memory shall come with thee.  As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of Men
Who pass away like the bright new green of spring, who
Even in the full strength of their years, Steward and King,
The sweet-souled hobbit and the full-bearded dwarf -
Shall all one by one be gathered to their rest,
And thou will turn away, not to follow them.

So live, that when their seasons are past,
Their beloved names and faces moved on
To that mysterious realm so unlike the
Halls that patiently await your own people,
Thou go not with them, yet will be sustained and soothed
By that unfaltering dreaming grace of thy kind
And walk softly away from their graves
Like one who sets aside a warm cloak at the
Turning of the seasons and sails on to pleasant dreams.