The Finale

Far over the Misty Mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day,
To find our long-forgotten gold

The pines were roaring on the height
The winds were moaning in the night
The fire was red, it flaming spread
The trees like torches blazed with light

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.