Tolkein's Poem: Winter Comes to Nargothrond

Winter Comes to Nargothrond is a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien as scribed by Thascales. I don't have a blog posted this week yet but wanted to share this poem with you that I love.

The summer slowly       in the sad forest
waned and faded.       In the west arose
winds that wandered       over warring seas.
Leaves were loosened       from labouring boughs:
fallow-gold they fell,       and the feet buried
of trees standing       tall and naked,
rustling restlessly       down roofless aisles,
shifting and drifting.
           The shining vessel
of the sailing moon       with slender mast,
with shrouds shapen       of shimmering flame,
uprose ruddy       on the rim of Evening
by the misty wharves       on the margin of the world.
With winding horns       winter hunted
in the weeping woods,       wild and ruthless;
sleet came slashing,       and slanting hail
from glowering heaven       grey and sunless,
whistling whiplash       whirled by tempest.
The floods were freed       and fallow waters
sweeping seaward,       swollen, angry,
filled with flotsam,       foaming, turbid,
passed in tumult.       The tempest died.
Frost descended       from far mountains
steel-cold and still.       Stony-glinting
ice hung evening       was opened wide,
a dome of crystal       over deep silence,
over windless wastes       and woods standing
as frozen phantoms       under flickering stars.