I gazed along the withered shire —
Nay, withered no more with root and briar —
For the gifts of the Lady were given with sight
Such as would be balm to our earth’s sore plight.
Yet somehow withered did the shire seem to me,
Though my elven blossom sat sure on my knee.
I cast my mind to the things I had seen —
To oliphaunts, mallorn, and the spiralling tree,
To riders, and creatures who drew scorn from my heart,
To watchers, and the lour dread cold of the dark.
Battles had been fought, and more than just mine
‘Ere we had come once again to the sweet Brandywine,
And crossed and torn down the cruel iron gates;
We had a pitiless welcome from one who could wait.

Two years hence, and all this was gone,
Yet my dear master was too oft forlorn,
And he bade me come with him as he rode from the lee,
And with a great gladness he went to the sea.

Gilthoniel, A Elbereth! I could have cried,
Yet it would not have brought me again to his side,
Nor have dispelled the gloom and the dark;
It was no place in Mordor. Soft did he embark.
I say gladness, though in truth I cannot tell,
And who knows where he walks now, beyond shire and dell,
Beyond any skill of mine to follow.

The years have been long, full of many sweet joys;
My flower and I blessed with girls, yea, and boys;
Frodo-lad, Elanor, and Goldilocks too,
And seven times mayor would daunt all but a few!
Then my flower passed on, and I could only look after,
As she too went away, by a different path than my master,
Beyond any skill of mine to follow.
And my tasks were all done, bar one.
Ringbearer too was I,
And whole, yet not whole, without my master nearby.
So unto my elf-bloom my lore I impart,
And after my master I too shall depart.