Nightsongs: Elanar (The harvester)

Lelen i tor dum elan'leah
um erah ni elind meeri tieh refellum

F'e meeri tereh merei otil neahfalah cerethem
mirei'alandfalah mirom mirei'elind gurguthim

En neahfalah ronnum ú eleaner fireleam
Elanar mel cirthurgor efer'doreane gorem

Calithiast cerethem meeri tereh
Deferen doreane Erri'maleaver tereh

Cirthurgor tennim ni haeli'corthe
Doreane felenerimri daeren bargerem

Vahn ýtul Ela í fergereth
Meth f'e'rillan leiramaem Efer'Gai

Felle f'e llem fogorh egellim
Ni fergerem Efele'elind llem

Ú hefelei aesanam
Dom elanar mel sorú calithiast

Sad is the story of that mother of harvest
who sows her seed every year.

She nurtures every straw until they touch the sun,
reflect the moon and shade the earth.

When the sun disappears and the nature rests
The harvester wanders her meadow with her scythe

Her cloak skims every straw
But it's quiet and ungrateful

Scythe swings in the rhythm of the wind
But the grass doesn't fear, it stands still

Old oatmeal, the harvest is ruined
But the maiden of the grainfield chooses the crops of her worth

She leaves the rest for the frost to rape
She leaves the fertile earth

And so cries again
that silver cloaked harvester