Caradhras Lyrics

When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet i tread the peak,
That overbrows the mountains vale.

Redhorn; my doom!

Where twisted round the barren oak,
The winter vine in beauty clung,
And howling winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.

Redhorn; my doom!

But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

High upon the land,
On the highest (mountain) peak i hear
(the echoes of) the world profound.