In the spring of the year,
When the trees are crowned with leaves,
In the Oak and Ash,
The Birch, Elm and Holly,
You will see Mirkwood’s people tall and fair.

When the eagles call to the silver moon,
In the blue shadows of the night.
Twirling shadows will appear,
When Mirkwood’s people sing.
When they sing by the light of the fire.

Who will walk with me,
Who will walk to this shadowy wood,
To watch the twirling shadows there?
Or stay hidden in the trees and sing,
In the spring of the year?

The song of the birds now fills the forest,
And the sound of a harp.
Voices fair will be heard,
The voices of Mirkwood’s people.
Merry are their voices and their elvish ways.

By Elruwen Greenleaf