A king he was on carven throne,

In many pillared halls of stone,

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door...

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn,

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright...

The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls...

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad dûm,

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere...

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep...