the white tree

Sign of kings and Numenor's power,
Born from Celeborn's white flower,
Nimloth fair, tall did you grow,
But in Ar-Pharazon you found a foe.

Oh, Nimloth fair, blessed Tree,
The axe did fall, thrice times three,
Nimloth, who Yavanna adored,
Fell to blow from axe and sword.

Yet praises be to Elendil tall,
Who took, before Numenor's fall,
Nimloth's child, small and fair,
In Minas Ithil it blossomed there.

Though thrice it died, to plague or war,
Thrice the king a sapling saw.
Nimloth! Nimloth! Your name is fair,
Your children live whilst kings take air.

But now that time is gone and dead.
No king to lead the country's head.
Nimloth now has no heir,
Gondor has no king to care.

In the Steward's courtyard bright,
The last White Tree, no longer white,
Waiting for the king to come,
There are no Ages of the Sun.

The line of Numenor is gone,
Of those old kings there is not one.
Nimloth bright, you wait in vain,
The kings will not come again!

Ai, Nimloth! Fairer than Tinuviel,
In Numenor once you fell,
Galathilion was whence you came,
From him Celeborn was named.

Fairest Tree, you are no more,
The world has gained a grievous sore.