Shadowed, the small waters of the Nimrodel,
Dimpled swirling, dappled with twilight
Falling in silver whispers. A mourning;
A rivulet of tears that never ceases.
Where has the silver maiden gone?
An aching spirit forsaken, gone
Deep into the Golden Wood,
Grieving among the trees.
Our only memory
The silver woods whisper: sun and moon.
Clinging to their former glory throughout
Cold winter, slowly falling to join
Deep silent drifts of forgotten years.
The newly budding life pushes
Them away to fall to their fate.
Falling with the Nimrodel
The softly rustling dead.
In the gold