What's your favourite verse?

I hope this hasn't been done before, but what's everyone's favourite Tolkien poem?

Mine would have to be Galadriel's:

'I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:

Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the brances blew.

Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,

And by the strands of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree.

Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,

In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion

There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,

While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.

Oh Lorien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;

The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.

Oh Lorien! Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore

And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.

But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,

What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

I think this poem is beautiful in that it portrays Galdriel's longing to return over the West to her homeland, as well as the fading of Lorien - 'And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor'.

Oh well I'll stop babbling! What's everyone else's favourite poem?

[ April 15, 2002: Message edited by: nimphel ]

[Niphredil Baggins]

A Elbereth Gilthoniel
Silivren penna miriel
O menel aglar elenath
Na-chaered palan-diriel
O galadhremmin ennorath
Fanuilos, le linnathon
Nef aear, si nef aearon!

Legolas' Song of the Sea

To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressëaut;a, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!

[Eruhen]

Either the Lay of Gil-galad:

Gil-galad was an Elven king;
Of him the harpers sadly sing.
The last whose realm was fair and free
Between the Mountains and the Sea.

His spear was long; his sword was keen;
His shining helm afar was seen;
The countless stars of Heaven's field
Were mirrored in his silver shield.

But long ago he went away,
And where he dwells no man can say;
For into Darkness fell his star,
In Mordor, where the Shadows are.


Either that one, or Namaríë (do I really have to write it?).

[Eruhen]

Oh, I forgot another really good one, though it's not from LotR proper. It's the Lay of Leithian, or the Tale of Beren and Luthíen. I really don't want to write it, cause it's about 200-300 pages long, and it still only goes up to when Carcharoth eats Beren's hand!

[Birdland]

Tolkien has never been my favorite poet, though if pressed I do like the Lament for Eorl the Young.

Epic lays and stories in verse have never been my cup of tea, and I have to admit to skipping thorough a lot of the verse while re-reading the trilogy.

Maybe it comes off better as spoken word.

[Arwen Imladris]

All of Tom bombadils songs. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Oh wow! The two replies were like my favourite ones too.

Birdland, I don't know. The first time I read LOTR, I tended to skip over most of the verses too. However when I bought the books and read it over carefully the second time, I paid attention to them. Epic poetry ain't my cup of tea either, and even if it were I get the feeling Tolkien wouldn't be rated as the best that were. However his poetry *is* rather evocative, especially since he draws on history and feelings so well - and if you read it, I'm sure you'll get into the feeling of it all! You're probably right in that it comes of better spoken - so read it out loud!

Try!

[Thingol]

In that vast shadow once of yore
Fingolfin stood: his shield he bore
with field of heaven's blue and star
of crystal shining pale afar.
In overmastering wrath and hate
desperate he smote upon that gate,
the Gnomish king, there standing lone,
while endless fortresses of stone
engulfed the thin clear ringing keen
of silver horn on baldric green.
His hopeless challenge dauntless cried
Fingolfin there: 'Come, open wide,
dark king, you ghatsly brazen doors!
Come forth, whom earth and heaven abhors!
Come forth, O monstruous craven lord,
and fight with thine own hand and sword,
thou wielder of hosts of banded thralls,
thou tyrant leaguered with strong walls,
thou foe of Gods and elvish race!
I wait thee here. Come! Show thy face!'

Then Morgoth came. For the last time
in those great wars he dared to climb
from subterranean throne profound,
the rumour of his feet a sound
of rumbling earthquake underground.
Black-armoured, towering, iron-crowned
he issued forth; his mighty shield
a vast unblazoned sable field
with shadow like a thundercloud;
and o'er the gleaming king it bowed,
as huge aloft like mace he hurled
that hammer of the underworld,
Grond. Clanging to ground it tumbled
down like a thunder-bolt, and crumbled
the rocks beneath it; smoke up-started,
a pit yawned, and a fire darted.

Fingolfin like a shooting light
beneath a cloud, a stab of white,
sprang then aside, and Ringil drew
like ice that gleameth cold and blue,
his sword devised of elvish skill
to pierce the flesh with deadly chill.
With seven wounds it rent his foe,
and seven mighty cries of woe
rang in the mountains, and the earth quook,
and Angband's trembling armies shook.

Yet Orcs would after laughing tell
of the duel at the gates of hell;
though elvish song thereof was made
ere this but one - when sad was laid
the mighty king in barrow high
and Thorndor, Eagle of the sky,
the dreadful tidings brought and told
to mourning Elfinesse of old.
Thrice was Fingolfin with great blows
to his knees beaten, thrice he rose
still leaping up beneath the cloud
aloft to hold star-shining, proud,
his stricken shield, his sundered helm,
that dark nor might could overwhelm
till all the earth was burst and rent
in pits about him. He was spent.
His feet stumbled. He fell to wreck
upon the ground, and on his neck
a foot like rooted hills was set,
and he was crushed - not conquered yet;
one last despairing stroke he gave:
the mighty foot pale Ringil clave
about the heel, and black the blood
gushed as from smoking fount in flood.

Halt goes for ever from that stroke
great Morgoth; but the king he broke,
and would have hewn and mangled thrown
to wolves devouring. Lo! from throne
that Manwë bade him build on high,
on peak unscaled beneath the sky,
Morgoth to watch, now down there swooped
Thorndor the King of Eagles, stooped,
and rending beak of gold he smote
in Bauglir's face, then up did float
on pinions thirty fathoms wide
bearing away, though loud they cried,
the mighty corse, the elven-king;
and where the mountains make a ring
far to the south about that plain
where after Gondolin did reign,
embattled city, at great height
upon a dizzy snowcap white
in mounded cairn the mighty dead
he laid upon the mountain's head.
Never Orc nor demon after dared
that pass to climb, o'er which they stared
Fingolfin's high and holy tomb,
till Gondolin's appointed doom.

-The lay of Leithian XII

[Kalimac]

I'll join with Birdland in that epic poetry has never been the first thing I grab for on the bookstore shelves (well, "The Divine Comedy" is good, but that's a little different). If I have to pick the Tolkien poetry that I most enjoy reading out loud, though [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] - any of the hobbit-songs ("O, Water hot is a noble thing!" and Sam's "Troll sat alone on a seat of stone" for example) and for some reason, the Ent-song when they're marching on Isengard. "Though Isengard be strong as stone, we go, we go, we go to war!" If you can't see why this is a favorite, try reading it out loud and you'll see.

[Tigerlily Gamgee]

In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring,
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey's end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.

[Birdland]

Aiiiiii! Iambic Pentameter!!!!! Who let the doggerels out? [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

Birdland - All right, all right, I get it! ^^;;;

... but Thingol has got to be congratulated! What a lot of patience you must have!

[BoromirTheBold]

Sorry about how long this will probably end up being, BUUUUT... You asked... So I'll answer....

Where now is the horse and rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow,
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

And then..... (I'm just going to put the whole passage of the book in here for continuity...)

"For a while the three companions remained silent, gazing after him. Then Aragorn spoke. 'They will look for him from the White Tower,' he said, 'but he will not return from mountain or from sea.' Then slowly he began to sing:

Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows
The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes.
'What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight?
Have you seen Boromir the Tall by Moon or by starlight?'
'I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey;
I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away
Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more.
The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.'
'O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar,
But you come not from the empty lands where no men are.'

Then Legolas sang:

From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones;
The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans.
'What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve?
Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.'
'Ask not of me where he doth dwell-so many bones there lie
On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky;
So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea.
Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me.'
'O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seawrd road runs south,
But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea's mouth.'

Then Aragorn sang again:

From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides and past the roaring falls;
And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls.
'What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today?
What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away.'
'Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought.
His cloven shield, his broken sword they to the water brought
His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest;
And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls bore him upon its breast.'
'O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze
To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls until the end of days.'

So they ended. Then they turned their boat and drove with all the speed they could against the stream back to Parth Galen.
'You left the East WInd to me,' said Gimli, 'but I will say naught of it.'
'That is as it should be,' said Aragorn. 'In Minas Tirith they endure the East Wind, but they do not ask it for tidings. But now Boromir has taken his road, and we must make haste to choose our own.' "

[Thingol]

hehe, I really don't have all that much patience, I cut and paste it from a Tolkien website that has a lot of his poetry. Songs and Tales

[Bragolandune]

I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood and every spring
there is adifferent green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.