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.
{J. R. R. Tolkien, The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, The Man in the Moon came down too soon, A Mediterranean Port at Dawn Painting by Claude-Joesph Vernet on Fine Art America}
Non v’era un fuoco acceso né colazione pronta,
e l’alba era fredda e brumosa;
Era cenere il fuoco e l’erba fango,
il sole una lampada fumosa
In un vicolo scuro. Nessuno incontrò
né voce intonava un canto
Ma solo sentiva il russar della gente
che avrebbe dormito ancora tanto.
{J. R. R. Tolkien, Le Avventure di Tom Bombadil, L’Uomo della Luna scese troppo presto, A Mediterranean Port at Dawn Painting by Claude-Joesph Vernet on Fine Art America}
-Ancalagon
