Home [ and it is breathed with all his desperate love and longing, and the aching, soul-deep knowledge that it is barred to him forever, and then he sings, love and loss and hopeless devotion, the words painting images of far away places he visits only in his memories, for not even his dreams will carry him there any longer ]
O wanderer escaped from night to haven white you come at last, to Elvenhome the green and fair where keen the air, where pale as glass beneath the Hill of Ilmarin a-glimmer in a valley sheer the lamplit towers of Tirion are mirrored on the Shadowmere. And at last you hear on strands of pearl where ends the world the music long, where ever-foaming billows roll the yellow gold and jewels wan.
and now I will pinch from Bilbo's tale of Earendil...
O wanderer escaped from night
to haven white you come at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.
And at last you hear on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.