White Alqualondë
The swans are taken,
you are lost;
you throw emblems in the tide
and look about you
at this battle that you knew,
the quays so pale,
the harbour stained by dusk –
But the sea retains her will:
remember – you dared her
when one star paved the water,
and you heard the great horns
and the gulls, the harbingers;
she has not withdrawn,
she has shut her hand
around this battered coast
and fixed where each rock fell,
so clearly –
You have grieved, children,
you have learned of endings,
of currents that do not return; you know,
finally, why men accept their gods;
have this comfort in Fëanor:
that he has made the sea his enemy,
and she will bear him only
as a bride long staled of love,
and her purpose will pursue him,
and she will be no road to him.