Two poems for Daeron by losselen  

Of Eriador

The twilit hours turn silver fast; a stark
And fallow sky. And wroth, discordant rains:
Rage! Rage! Rend these airs, choke the measured dark,
And drown the dying dusk on these dim plains.
O frosted, wretched earth, thou selfsame earth
Holds also the girdled Doriath, in whose airs
A throaty lark did sing in music mirth.
How sweet his song without earthly compares,
Yet chills me now like dins of rain. This land
Of dross, barbs of fern; these winds untame
That die in groaning grass-- had I in hand
The fairest hemlock 'tis so much the same.
The fair is fair as dust: A house of frost
For a wounded shadow. Lúthien is lost.