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			I would assign anyone to the Shire who can translate this for me in Quenya:
 And that I said my limbs were old;
 And that I said my blood was cold,
 And that my kindly fire was fled,
 And that my withered heart was dead,
 And that I might not sing of love? -
 How could I to the dearest theme
 That ever warmed a minstrel's dream,
 So foul, so false, a recreant prove!
 How could I name my love's very name,
 Nor wake my harp to notes of flame!
 
 Could someone please translate that for me? I would be very, very grateful.
 
 Cheers!
 
				__________________"Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?" – Tom Bombadil
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