In tales of old they tell of her; she who walks in the shadows.
In songs of old they sing of her; she who dances in the light!

Can you tell me how she moves; she with hair like shadows?
Can you tell me how she sings; voice as clear as rain?
Can you tell me how she walks; feathers on a meadow?
Can you tell me how she dances all around the glade?

Then a mortal man so weary, from his journeys hard and cruel,
Lost his grief there in the clearing, and called after as she flew:

“Tinuviel, Tinuviel, where art thou, Tinuviel?
Wait for me, Tinuviel, if you hear, Tinuviel!”

As he said this, he ran after; chased his dear beloved sprite,
And through the ages ever after, he would follow day and night.

“Tinuviel, Tinuviel, where art thou, Tinuviel?
Wait for me, Tinuviel, if you hear, Tinuviel!”