Down fall the leaves of autumn old,
To the roots they belonged.
West sailed ships of elven souls,
To the homes they yearned.

White flying gulls stirred my bitter cup,
For they bring air of homeward bound.
Yet still I lingered East of the Sea,
What holds me back, to the lands of withered trees?

Countless starless nights I watched,
And numerous grey stricken dawn.
Yet the worst is the longing for home,
Be the ships that would bear me across long gone.

No flowers bloomed in my heart,
With my soul flew away long.
Ye I shall live on,
Though bitter shall be my song.