The Adventures of Tom Bombadil

in the windy Bay of Bel.

He began to think, lest he melt and sink,

what in the moon to do,

When a fisherman’s boat found him far afloat

to the amazement of the crew,

Caught in their net all shimmering wet

in a phosphorescent sheen

Of bluey whites and opal lights

and delicate liquid green.

Against his wish with the morning fish

they packed him back to land:

‘You had best get a bed in an inn,’ they said;

‘the town is near at hand.’

Only the knell of one slow bell

high in the Seaward Tower

Announced the news of his moonsick cruise

at that unseemly hour.

Not a hearth was laid, not a breakfast made,

and dawn was cold and damp.

There were ashes for fire, and for grass the mire,

for the sun a smoking lamp

In a dim back-street. Not a man did he meet,

no voice was raised in song;

There were snores instead, for all folk were abed

and still would slumber long.

He knocked as he passed on doors locked fast,

and called and cried in vain,

Till he came to an inn that had light within,

and he tapped at a window-pane.

A drowsy cook gave a surly look,

and ‘What do you want?’ said he.

‘I want fire and gold and songs of old

and red wine flowing free!’

‘You won’t get them here,’ said the cook with a leer,

‘but you may come inside.

Silver I lack and silk to my back —

maybe I’ll let you bide.’

A silver gift the latch to lift,

a pearl to pass the door;

For a seat by the cook in the ingle-nook

it cost him twenty more.

For hunger or drouth naught passed his mouth

till he gave both crown and cloak;

And all that he got, in an earthen pot