To the sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the whide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweat are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressёa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!