Under those enchanted stars,
Beneath the sky, the River Andúin glistens,
The moon is bright, the night is clear,
And a sad and shrouded elf listens.

His elven eyes shine blue but dark,
The elven tears fall slow and paled,
He slowly turns from the Andúin,
And in the silent night he wailed.

The moon sank low and disappeared,
The night sky lessened, the morning said,
The sun rose high into the day,
But on the bank, an elf lay dead.

His golden spun hair was matted and tangled,
His mind had been made; he could not cope,
His once blue eyes were shadowed and lifeless,
And around his neck there was a rope.

No one knew why he ended his life:
But the one who took his soul apart,
Even so, he was remembered by all,
As the elf who died of a broken heart.