Dashed into darkness, deeper than heartgrief,

All voices mourn thee, high and humble,

Treespeech and beastspeech, manspeech and bard,

All voices mourn thee, fruit of the dawn,

Flower of ice enchanting the sunlight,

Shadow of moonbeam woven from marble,

Throat of the morning where all voices mingled.

In Afinil, O Afinil!

Thy dreams are lost, thy music still,

The briars creep where thy towers were

And the stars are dark in the shadowmere

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