Tis a Petrarchan sonnet.
Gandalf and the Balrog
Thongs of fire lashed at Tharkûn the Great,
On the narrow pass of the dwarven bridge.
He struggled on that precarious ridge,
And still could not that dark-fire abate.
The bent, old servant of the Secret Flame,
Then defied the Shadow-Fire of Hell;
And lo! ensuing its downfall, he fell;
Into darkness, filled with heat none could tame.
*
They plummeted to a lake, and still fought,
For days in that utmost dungeon; then clomb;
Up the longest stair, to the mountains cone.
Finally, Gandalf left the beast to rot.
He strayed from thought and time; into the night.
And returned anew: shrouded in white light.
