Bondage (Aragorn)
There's freedom in a measured line of verse
For n'er do wit and wild imagination run
So far as 'neath the reins of rhyme and meter
Nor traverse such rich-hued inward fields
In search of one small word, the sound of which
exactly yields heart's truth, and makes it sing.
Thus is love. —And duty, done in love,
For two are one. Duty's bonds bite deep
Yet n'er would I my bondage from me cast,
For freedom, thusly sought, would die.
While I my people keep, my love keeps me.
And so, held doubly fast, my spirit takes to wing
My heartbeat bravely measures time
And all my mirth spills over into rhyme.
Fëanor Challenged
For craft of hand thou carest not -
Jewels fine cut, metals wrought.
My skill renowned: worth naught
To thine appraising eyes, cool thought.
"A hair!" thou laughest, mocking-wise.
"The growing thing, source-severed, dies!
I am no stone in maiden guise
To shape and set and keep and prize.
"Sooner bid the stars to set
Or capture Treelight in a net
And put it in an amulet
Than bid me my despite forget."
Fair Pride, how mightst thou change thy song
If I, by art and labour long,
With nets no less than fire and tong,
Should bend my skill
to
prove thee wrong?
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