One for his joy and youth in Doriath

OF DORIATH

Did ever sing the yellow-throated lark
So like the stars in tender dreams of night?
For there beneath the elder-bowers dark
Sweet limbs of her that pluck from light to light
Its hues to band her long and living hair--
And stars upon her locks of shadow lay.
And words shall bloom beneath the hemlocks fair
Their will my lyre-strings and lips obey:
Like vowelléd music falling quick and oft
With woodnotes wild that minds cannot command;
They follow her, whose hallowed footfalls soft
Do touch like breaths upon the eager land.
O Doriath, a splendid ever-spring,
That flowers forth when nightingales do sing!