Gdyby Makalaurë tworzył w stylu Emily Dickinson, być może, kiedy błąkał się po wybrzeżu, po wrzuceniu ostatniego z Silmarili w głębiny morza, śpiewałby tak:
The raging sea roars in my Heart,
its waves beat on my chest.
And when they stop then I will know –
I came to – Nothingness.
There is no way, I see – no path,
there is – no place – to go.
The storms destroyed the shining Stars,
I cannot find my Home.
No farewell say I to the world,
it will not weep for me.
To the old Question answer is –
certainly – not to Be.
The raging sea roars in my Heart,
its waves beat on my chest.
And when they stop then I will know –
I came to – Nothingness.
There is no way, I see – no path,
there is – no place – to go.
The storms destroyed the shining Stars,
I cannot find my Home.
No farewell say I to the world,
it will not weep for me.
To the old Question answer is –
certainly – not to Be.
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