by Luinyelle
Ar kelume patanen þinda lómesse,
ú sartaro óni ar ilya nómesse
ya lahtanen kaine ansérea tíne,
or sardi, or salque, or tereva hlíne.
Menello tal fainaner tinwi kalalta,
Tihtaila or falmali elvea ñalta
Lilinte ter mordor taþarion tyelka.
Tá valtane súre olassie nelka,
Nin kolila lingie lammar ar tarnen,
Lan lirie melda ló lirulin hlarnen.
Linwelya, a lirulin, ainima líre,
ve kapile limbali mi lantasíre,
ve papila hwindeva lasseo hlusse
hya palpie vilvarin tereno. Musse
ve lairea miste pá tuimali, virya
ve tuileva minya laiquasse al lirya
ve malina nehte lavarion lelye.
Nás aþie lumba indonyan. A elye
nin anna almárea, moina márinya,
quantelye koivenya, melisse, tárinya.
En renin vantanquar al liltier linte,
i lúmeli ande anant’ ariþinte.
Lye lindane ara ni, tás mi lepettar,
ar mina lindelya ni lanyane quettar.
Rámaite ter olvali poto lye ville,
lan kato alarke talanten ni hille.
Vilyasse luntelye ar nornen pá talan,
ranyaila ter lande hravandali palan
nu helle yas lelyar mi arate ménar
Elemmire, Karnil, Silindo ar Nénar.
Ú lindale véla Ardasse hlarinwa,
ómanten ú maire ta míra karinwa.
Qui amna tullenque, ron pustane vaile,
ron lastaner lamnion hosto elmaile,
ekkuinuner lóti et olori kemne
ar ñillion silme ankalina nemne.
Asávien olirienquo maranwe,
vent rie alasse yo raine istanwe,
er alkarin tuile ta ilvana laire
tenn‘ aure yas vánel nórennar ekkaire.
Sí quilde i taure ar halda i helle,
yahtinya úpahtea, lindale quelle.
Uin híra en lingeli, unqua i súma,
ar ténea tieron ilya mi kúma.
Lyen, lirulin, yálan, lye kestean sinna,
anírala kenai entuluval ninna.
Mal kíliel himya mendelyana véra;
oloitien hepe lye – aiwe ná léra.
Nai alya lendalya! Sin holmo merinye.
Ri‘ enyala oio nilmenqua, mekinye.
I walked by a stream in grey night,
Without a companion at my side and on every place
that I passed by lay peaceful silence,
on grass, on stones, on fine cobweb.
From the sky downwards stars sent their light,
blinking on the many waves starlike radiance
danced nimbly through the shadows of willows.
A wind then moved the dense foliage,
bearing to me musical sounds and I stood
While I heard the singing of my beloved lark.
Your lay, oh lark, a holy song,
Like springing drops in a waterfall,
Like the whisper of a trembling birch leave,
Or the fluttering of a slender butterfly. Soft
Like a summer-drizzle on buds, fresh
Like the first greenness of spring, and sweet
Like yellow honey of delicate blossoms.
It is comfort to my weary heart. Oh you
are a blessed gift to me, a dear home,
You filled my life, my lover, my queen.
I still remember our walks and swift dances,
The times long and yet so short.
You sang beside me, there in the Lepettar,
And into your song I wove words.
Winged you flew ahead through the branches,
While I followed behind on swift feet.
You floated in the air and I ran on the ground,
wandering far through wide wildernesses,
Beneath the sky, where in lofty regions fare
Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, and Uranus.
No equal music on Arda is heard,
By voices no art so lovely made.
When we drew near, soon the wind ceased.
Soon hearkened the host of marvelling beasts.
Flowers awoke from earthen dreams
And the light of the stars seemed very bright.
I have believed in the destiny of our singing together,
Only joy and good will were known to us,
One glorious spring and a perfect summer,
Until the day when you disappeared to lands far away.
Now the wood is quiet and the sky veiled,
My throat is speachless, music faded.
I find no more musical sounds, hollow is the bosom,
And every one of paths ends up in void.
To you, lark, I call, I seek you still,
Desiring maybe you will return to me.
But you have chosen to abide by your own will;
I have failed to keep you – a bird be free.
May you journey be blessed! Thus I wish sincerely.
Just do ever remember our friendship, I plead.
©️ 2022, Luinyelle.
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