One ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.Three rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,One for the Dark Lord on his dark throneIn the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind themIn the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring
About the poet
J.R.R. Tolkien
1892 - 1973/Male/EnglishJohn Ronald Reuel Tolkien was a writer, poet, philologist, and professor. His fantasy works led to a popular resurgence of the genre.
View profile & all 9 Poems / StoriesMore from J.R.R. Tolkien
All That is Gold
All that is gold does not glitter,Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither,Deep roots are not reached by the frost.From the ashes a fire shall be woken,A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be blade that was broken,The crownless again shall be king.
Galadriel
In Dwimordene, in LorienSeldom have walked the feet of Men,Few mortal eyes have seen the light,That lies there ever, long and bright.Galadriel! Galadriel!Clear is the water of your well,White is the star in your white handUnmarrred, unstained is leaf and land,In Dwimordene, in LorienMore fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.To Flammifer of Westernesse.
Tinuviel
The leaves were long, the grass was green,The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,And in the glade a light was seenOf stars in shadow shimmering.Tinuviel was dancing thereTo music of a pipe unseen,And light of stars was in her hair,And in her raiment glimmering. There Beren came from mountains cold,And lost he wandered under leaves,And where the Elven-river rolledHe walked alone and sorrowing.He peered between the hemlock-leavesAnd saw in wonder flowers of goldUpon her mantle and her sleeves,And her hair like shadow following. Enchantment healed his weary feetThat over hills were doomed to roam;And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,And grasped at moonbeams glistening.Through woven woods in ElvenhomeShe lightly fled on dancing feet,And left him lonely still to roamIn the silent forest listening. He heard there oft the flying soundOf feet as light as linden-leaves,Or music welling underground,In hidden hollows quavering.Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,And one by one with sighing soundWhispering fell the beechen leavesIn the wintry woodland wavering. He sought her ever, wandering farWhere leaves of years were thickly strewn,By light of moon and ray of starIn frosty heavens shivering.Her mantle glinted in the moon,As on a hill-top high and farShe danced, and at her feet was strewnA mist of silver quivering. When winter passed, she came again,And her song released the sudden spring,Like rising lark, and falling rain,And melting water-bubbling.He saw the elven-flowers springAbout her feet, and healed againHe longed by her to dance and singUpon the grass untroubling. Again she fled, but swift he came,Tinuviel! Tinuviel!He called her by her elvish name;And there she halted listening.One moment stood she, and a spell,His voice laid on her: Beren came,And doom fell on TinuvielThat in his arms lay glistening. As Beren looked into her eyesWithin the shadows of her hair,The trembling starlight of the skiesHe saw there mirrored shimmering.Tinuviel the elven-fairImmortal maiden elven-wise,About him cast her shadowy hairAnd arms like silver glimmering. Long was the way that fate them boreO'er stony mountains cold and greyThrough halls of iron and darkling doorAnd woods of nightshade morrowless.The Sundering Seas between them lay,And yet at last they met once more,And log ago they passed awayIn the forest singing sorrowless.
Earendil
Eärendil was a marinerThat tarried in Arvernien;He built a boat of timber felledIn Nimbrethil to journey in;Her sails he wove of silver fair,Of silver were her lanterns madeHer prow was fashioned like a swan,And light upon her banners laid. In panoply of ancient kings,In chainéd rings he armoured him;His shining shield was scored with runesTo ward all wounds and harm from him;His bow was made of dragon-horn,His arrows shorn of ebony,Of silver was his habergeon;His scabbard of chalcedony;His sword of steel was valiant,Of adamant his helmet tall,An eagle-plume upon his crest,Upon his breast an emerald. Beneath the Moon and under starHe wandered far from northern strands,Bewildered on enchanted waysBeyond the days of mortal lands.From gnashing of the Narrow IceWhere shadow lies on frozen hills,From nether heats and burning wasteHe turned in haste, and roving stillOn starless waters far astrayAt last he came to Night of Naught,And passed, and never sight he sawOf shining shore nor light he sought.The winds of wrath came driving him,And blindly in the foam he fledFrom west to east and errandless,Unheralded he homeward sped. There flying Elwing came to him,And flame was in the darkness lit;More bright than light of diamondThe fire upon her carcanet.The Silmaril she bound on himAnd crowned him with the living lightAnd dauntless then with burning browHe turned his prow, and in the nightFrom Otherworld beyond the SeaThere strong and free a storm arose,A wind of power in Tarmenel;By paths that seldom mortal goesHis boat it bore with biting breathAs might of death across the greyAs long-forsaken seas distressed;From east to west he passed away. Through Evernight he back was borneOn black and roaring waves that ranO'er leagues unlit and foundered shoresThat drownded before the Days began,Until he heard on strands of pearlWhen ends the world the music long,Where ever-foaming billows rollThe yellow gold and jewels wan.He saw the Mountain silent riseWhere twilight lies upon the kneesOf Valinor and EldamarBeheld afar beyond the seas.A wanderer escaped from nightTo haven white he came at last,To Elvenhome the green and fairWhere keen the air, where pale as glassBeneath the Hill and IlmarinA-glimmer in a valley sheerThe lamplit towers of TirionAre mirrored on the Shadowmere. He tarried there from errantryAnd melodies they taught to him,And sages old him marvels told,And harps of gold they brought to him,They clothed him then in elven-white,And seven lights before him sent,As through the CalacirianTo hidden land forlorn he went,He came unto the timeless hallsWhere shining fall the countless years,And endless reigns the Elder KingIn Ilmarin on Mountain sheer,And words unheard were spoken thenOf folk of Men and Elven-kin,Beyond the world were visions showedForbid to those that dwell therein. A ship then new they built for himOf mithril and of elven-glassWith shining prow; no shaven oarN or sail she bore on silver mast;The Silmaril as lantern lightAnd banner bright with living flameTo gleam thereon by ElberethHerself was set, who thither cameAnd wings immortal made for him,And laid on him undying doom,To sail the shoreless skies and comeBehind the Sun and light of Moon. From Evereven's lofty hillsWhere softly silver fountains fallHis wings him bore, a wandering light,Beyond the mighty Mountain Wall,From World's End then he turned away,And yearned again to find afarHis home through shadows journeying,And burning as an island starOn high above the mists he came,A distant flame before the Sun,A wonder ere the waking dawnWhere grey the Norland waters run. And over Middle-earth he passedAnd heard at last the weeping soreOf women and of elven-maidsIn Elder Days, in years of yore.But on him mighty doom was laidTill Moon should fade, an orbéd starTo pass, and tarry never moreOn Hither Shores where mortals are;For ever still a herald onAn errand that should never restTo bear his shining lamp afar.
The Road Goes Ever On
The Road goes ever on and onDown from the door where it began.Now far ahead the Road has gone,And I must follow, if I can,Pursuing it with eager feet,Until it joins some larger wayWhere many paths and errands meet,And whither then? I cannot say.
