All that is gold does not glitter,Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither,Deep roots are not reached by the frost.From the ashes a fire shall be woken,A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be blade that was broken,The crownless again shall be king.

Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gateAnd though I oft have passed them by A day will come at last when IShall take the hidden paths that run West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I goTo heal my heart and drown my woeRain may fall, and wind may blowAnd many miles be still to goBut under a tall tree will I lieAnd let the clouds go sailing by

The world was fair, the mountains tallIn Elder Days before the fall...

Fare well we call to hearth and hallThough wind may blow and rain may fallWe must away ere break of dayOver the wood and mountain tallTo Rivendell where Elves yet dwellIn glades beneath the misty fellThrough moor and waste we ride in hasteAnd wither then we cannot tellWith foes ahead behind us dreadBeneath the sky shall be our bedUntil at last our toil be spedOur journey done, our errand spedWe must away! We must away!We ride before the break of day!

Oh! That was poetry!" said Pippin. "Do you really mean to start before the break of day?

Far over misty mountains coldTo dungeons deep and caverns oldWe must away, ere break of day,To find our long-forgotten gold.

There was a merry passenger, a messenger, a mariner:he built a gilded gondola to wander in, and had in hera load of yellow oranges and porridge for his provender;he perfumed her with marjoram and cardamom and lavender.

Alive without breath;as cold as death;never thirsting, ever drinking;clad in mail, never clinking.Drowns on dry land, thinks an islandis a mountain;thinks a fountainis a puff of air.So sleek, so fair!What a joy to meet!We only wish to catch a fish,so juicy-sweet!