The Misty Mountains Cold

Far over the Misty Mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must await, ere break of day,
To find our long forgotten gold.

The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night.
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The wind was on the withered heath,
But in the forest stirred no leaf:
There shadows lay be night or day,
And dark things silent crept beneath.
The wind went on from West to East;
All movement in the forest…