There Beren came from mountains cold,
    And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
    He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
    And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
    And her hair like shadow following.

Enchantment healed his weary feet
    That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
    And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
    She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
    In the silent forest listening.

He heard there oft the flying sound
    Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
    In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
    And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
    In the wintry woodland wavering.

He sought her ever, wandering far
    Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
    In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
    As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
    A mist of silver quivering.

When winter passed, she came again,
    And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
    And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
    About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
    Upon the grass untroubling.

Again she fled, but swift he came.
    Tinúviel! Tinúviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
    And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
    His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinúviel
    That in his arms lay glistening.

As Beren looked into her eyes
    Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
    He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinúviel the elven-fair,
    Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
    And arms like silver glimmering.