O fading town upon an island hill, Old shadows linger in thine ancient gate, Thy robe is grey, thine old heart now is still; Thy towers silent in the mist await their crumbling end While through the storeyed elms The gliding black water leaves these inland realms, And slips between long meadows to the Sea, Still bearing downward over murmurous falls One day and then another to the Sea And slowly thither many years have gone All thy trees, Kortirion, were bent, And shook with sudden whispering lament: For passing were the days, and doomed the nights When flittering ghost-moths danced round tapers in the moveless air nighttime And doomed already were the radiant dawns, The odour and the noise of meads, when all thy trees were bent, and shook with sudden whispering lament And slowly thither many years have gone since first the elves here built ancient, renowned Kortirion