(İManlio Greco 2004)
Hear the wind, on branches blows
what shall it want to say?
The people of trees, if they could sing,
understand you may.
Years ago in the Golden Wood
afar their voices did chime.
In Nimrodel the time has flown
And you, people of Lorien, sigh.
I'd like to see the maidens dancing still
between the shades of the silver trees,
where now the leaves, blown by the wind,
swing from the branches in loneliness.
But now I sit before the sea,
beyond the horizon my voice still sing;
I hope my notes will sail to you,
may the waves bring back to me,
a fading sound of voices
fading sound of voices...