/lit/ - Literature

>Now the Sun died and behold, I came to that most magic wood where once the ageless oaks stood firm amidst the later growths of beech and slender trees of birch, but all were fallen beneath the ruthless axes of unthinking men. Ah me, here was the path beaten with spells, trodden with musics and enchantment that wound therethrough, and this way were the Elves wont to ride a-hunting. Many a time have I seen them and Gilfanon has been there, and they rode like kings unto the chase, and the beauty of their faces in the sun was as the new morning, and the wind in their golden hair like to the glory of bright flowers shaken at dawn, and the strong music of their voices like the sea and like trumpets and like very many viols and of golden harps unnumbered. And yet again have I seen the people of Tavrobel beneath the moon, and they would ride or dance across the valley of the two rivers where the grey bridge leaps the joining waters; and they would fare swiflty as clad in dreams, spangled with gems like to the grey dews amid the grass, and their white robes caught the long radiance of the moon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and their spears shivered with silver flames.