By this crystal curtain and rose-lit mist we see this
Brief tapestry of jewels, and the streams of light they weave;
A Glory framed with darkness,
Hidden wonder of the realm;
Our souls suffuse with light, and our hearts overwhelm,
With a longing for a home of beauty and of peace,
Deep memories of some heart’s desire, a cry that’s never ceased,
For another time and place, where our suffering need not be.
But it is gone, gone…
With verdant grasses blooming and whispering bright trees,
Blessed Isle of Númenor,
Now lost beneath the sea.

The vibrant colors shine, and gleaming shift upon the floor,
A misty veil darkens the mossy stones beside the door.
The darkness will enclose us,
As we fade away from light,
As unto the darkness we must give our hope and sight.
We slowly turn to enter, the waiting Dark is vast,
But first we will stand to watch this Glory pass:
Bittersweet and lovely. Our aching hearts are sore,
The light is gone, gone…
How the Twilight veil of mourning mists the stony floor,
Lying wet and darkened
With the tears of Númenor.

A. Buckles / '03