Moria - Númenor

The world world was young, the mountains green

No stain yet on the Moon was seen

No words were laid on stream or stone

On stream or stone

A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor

Upon the door

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

Forever far and bright

There hammer on the anvil smote

There chisel clove, and graver wrote;

There forged was bladed and bound was hilt;

The delver mind the mason built

The world is grey, th mountains old

The forge’s fire is ashen-cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:

The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls