In golden sun in golden wood a golden queen walks; walks in twilight, through shadowed vale at fall of day.  A golden queen in dusk of land her voice rises, entwines with stars and sings joy to man and land.  Sings of beauty does she, beauty and an ever-falling darkness; of bravery and of despair; of hope and of those who no longer have need of hope.  The leaves of her golden home drift and fall as she sings; fading as all that is Elven must fade – and still sings the golden queen, sings until a golden fire is burnt.