She let her flying raiment sweep,
enmeshed with woven spells of sleep,
as round the dark void she ranged and reeled,
From wall to wall she turned and wheeled
in dance such as never Elf nor fay
before devised, nor since that day;
than swallow swifter, the flitttermouse
in dying light round darkened house
more silken-soft, more strange and fair
than slyphine maidens of the Air
whose wings in Varda’s heavenly hall
in rhythmic movement beat and fall.
Down crumpled Orc, and Balrog proud;
all eyes were quenched, all heads were bowed;
the fires of heart and maw were stilled,
and ever like a bird she thrilled
above a lightless world forlorn
in ecstasty enchanted borne.
All eyes were quenched, save those that glared
in Morgoth’s lowering brows, and stared
in slowly wandering wonder round,
and slow were in enchantment bound.
Their will wavered, and their fire failed,
and as beneath his brows the paled,
the Silmarils like stars were kindled
that in the reek of Earth had dwindled
escaping upwards clear to shine,
glistening marvellous in heaven’s mine.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lay of Leithian
Canto XIII lines 4068-4095, The Lays of Beleriand, The History of Middle Earth Vol. 3