In Moria, In Khazad-dûm

The world was fair, the mountains tall
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away
The world was fair in Durin's Day
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

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.

There hammer on the anvil smote
There chisel clove, and graver wrote
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt
The delver mined, the mason built
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale
And metal wrought like fishes' mail
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword
And shining spears were laid in hoard.

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.