From Wilderland to Western shore,
form northern waste to southern hill
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darkling
woods he walked at will.
With Dwarves and Hobbits, Elves and Men,
with mortal and immortal folk,
with bird on bough and beast
in den,
in their own secret tounges he spoke.
A deadly sword, a healing hand,
a back that bent beneath its load;
a
trumpet-voice, a burning brand,
a weary pilgrim on the road.
A lord of wisdom throned he sat,
swift in anger, quick to
laugh;
an old man in a battered hat
who leaned upon a thorny staff.
With Dwarves and Hobbits, Elves and Men,
with mortal
and immortal folk,
with bird on bough and beast in den,
in their own secret tounges he spoke.
From Wilderland to Western
shore,
form northern waste to southern hill
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darkling woods he walked at will.