White glades, a city, bearing leaves that bloom, into golden slumbers.

The star of Earendil, the light that watches over, the fair children Illuvitar.

What is terrible, What is sacred, A haven of rest, and a doom impending, the next dark traveler.

A mirror that flows from Ulmos veins. It sees all, At the command of a lady, Her face unscarred and fair, intertwined with laurel leaves of gold.

Eyes that pierce wisdom, are stripped of poets gloss, Galadriel, The beating heart of Lothlorien