To the sea, to the sea! The whit gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying,
West, west away, the round sun is falling,
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people who have gone befor me?
I will leave, i will leave the woods that bore me;
For are days are ending and or years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices on the Last Isle calling,
In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not; land of my people forever!
