I wander as if lost upon this Eastern shore,
Yearning for the western lands that lie beyond the Sea,
The crying of the gulls I will resolve to hear no more,
For the way unto the Blessed Realm is closed now for me.
The Elder King, Lord of Arda, he gives thought to us no longer,
His sacred eagles dwell no more upon the mountains high,
Recalling times of old, when all was fair and we were stronger,
I stand despairing, knowing Manwë does not hear me cry.
Oh Varda! Lady Elbereth, your stars shine fair and bright,
Still unto we who linger in the fading Mortal Land,
And though they give us hope through all our sorrow and our plight,
We long the more for Aman, and for Valinor's white sand.
Ever I long for the Blessed Realm, though I should see no more,
The lands of green, fair Middle-earth that I have loved so well.
I hope that one day by some chance I still might leave this shore,
But will this prayer be granted me? Nay, that I cannot tell.
