The holy people of an elder day,
Immortal Elves, that singing fair and fey
Of vanished things that were, and could be yet,
Pass like a wind among the rustling trees,
A wave of bowing grass, and we forget
Their tender voices like wind-shaken bells
Of flowers, their gleaming hair like golden asphodels.
Immortal Elves, that singing fair and fey
Of vanished things that were, and could be yet,
Pass like a wind among the rustling trees,
A wave of bowing grass, and we forget
Their tender voices like wind-shaken bells
Of flowers, their gleaming hair like golden asphodels.
J.R.R. Tolkien, Kortirion Among the Trees (1937)
‘Strider’ I am to one fat man who lives within a day’s march of foes that would freeze his heart, or lay his little town in ruin, if he were not kept guarded ceaselessly. Yet we would not have it otherwise. If simple folk are free from care and fear, simple they will be, and we must be kept secret to keep them so. This has been the task of my kindred, while the years have lengthened and the grass has grown.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
