Two poems for Daeron by losselen

Did ever sing the yellow-throated lark
So like the stars and tender stream of night?
For there beneath the elder-bowers dark
Sweet limbs of her that pluck from light to light
Its hues to band her long and living hair--
And stars upon her locks like water lay.
And words shall bloom beneath the hemlocks fair
Their will my lyre-strings and lips obey:
Like vowellèd music falling quick and oft
With woodnotes wild that minds cannot command.
They follow her, whose hallowed footfalls soft
Do touch like breaths upon the eager land.
O Doriath, a splendid ever-spring,
That flowers forth when nightingales do sing!

The twilit hours turn silver fast; a stark
And fallow sky. And wroth, discordant rains:
Rage! Rage! Rend these airs, choke the measured dark,
And drown the dying dusk on these dim plains.
O frosted, wretched earth, thou selfsame earth
Holds also the girdled Doriath, in whose airs
A throaty lark did sing in music mirth.
How sweet his song without earthly compares,
Yet chills me now like dins of rain. This land
Of dross, barbs of fern; these winds untame
That die in groaning grass-- had I in hand
The fairest hemlock 'tis so much the same.
The fair is fair as dust: A house of frost
For a wounded shadow. Lúthien is lost.