O Idril! Wilt thou not once look to me?
Thou seest how in torment my heart writhes.
I shrink from scoffing glances that I see,
And the cold looks of stone from thy bright eyes.

Avoidest thou my presence, though I long
For thee to see alone, if thou dost wish.
But me thou heedest not, and hold me wrong
If thy soft tender lips I wish to kiss.

Thou givest all the kindness and the good
To Gondolin, the people of the flow’r,
Though I could not once touch thee, though I would;
Of my time here I curse each bitter hour.

Rejection of my love doth plant a seed.
Beware lest my dark soul thou dost not heed.