Frodo's Poems & Songs
Here are some of the songs and poems sung or recited by Frodo which you can find in the books. Click on each title to read the lyrics. If you are not using IE, you'll have to scroll down through the poems.


The Road goes ever on and on
  Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
  And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,
  Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
  And wither then? I cannot say.

O! Wanderers in the shadowed land
despair not! For though dark they stand,
all woods there must be end at last,
and see the open sun go past:
the setting sun, the rising sun,
the day's end, or the day begun.
For east or west all woods must fail...

O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water!
O reed by the pool! Fair River-daughter!
O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after!
O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves' laughter!

Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!

There is an inn, a merry old inn
  beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
  one night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat
  that plays a five string fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
  now sawing in the middle.

The landlord keeps a little dog
  that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
  and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a hornéd cow
  as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her weave her tufted tail
  and dance upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes
  and the store of silver spoons
For Sunday there's a special pair,
And these they polish up with care
  on Saturday afternoons.

The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
  and the cat began to wail;
A dish and spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
  and the little dog chased his tail.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,
  and then rolled beneath his chair;
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
  and dawn was in the air.

Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
  'The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
  and the Sun'll be rising soon!'

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
  a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
  'It's after three!' he said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill
  and bundled him into the Moon
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
  and a dish ran up with the spoon.

Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
  the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
  and danced upon the floor.

With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!
  the cow jumped over the Moon,
and the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
  with the silver Sunday spoon.

The round Moon rolled behind the hill,
  as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her firey eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
  they all went back to bed!

All that is gold does not glitter,
  Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
  Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
  A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
  The crownless again shall be king.

When evening in the Shire was grey
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;
before the dawn he went away
on journey long without a word.

From Wilderland to Western shore,
from northern waste to southern hill,
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darkling woods he walked at will.

With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,
with mortal and immortal folk,
with bird on bough and beast in den,
in their own secret tongues he spoke.

A deadly sword, a healing hand,
a back that bent beneath its load;
a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,
a weary pilgrim on the road.

A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger, quick to laugh;
an old man in a battered hat
who leaned upon a thorny staff.

He stood upon the bridge alone
and Fire and Shadow both defied;
his staff was broken on the stone,
in Khazad-dum his wisdom died.

Still round the corner there may wait
  A new road or a secret gate;
And altough I oft have passed them by,
  A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
  West of the Moon, East of the Sun.


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site created November 24, 2003
last modified: September 20, 2013