I Sit And Think

Poem By John Ronald Reuel Tolkien

I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall never see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.

Comments about I Sit And Think

I really like this poem and all the feelings with it- just wondering but not worrying. Walter Conrad, I don't see anything shallow in this.
I have been waiting for returning feet, and voices at the door I feel it has been for so many years... an ode to the dearly departed. Wishful thinking perhaps, yet it gives me strength from places unknown.
Well, my friend and I have composed a ballad to this poem and we play it with our rock band. We've submitted this one to a contest in Polish version (we didn't get any prize, though) , but I think we shall try to record and play this one with English lyrics too. I just love this poem.
this poem is beautiful...I didntcare much for it until i read the last lines...It tells us that while u may wonder and think of the future and past, the people you care about today should come first.
So much to think about... past, future and present. This poem leaves you yearning for a bit of quiet time and reflection.


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173 total ratings

Other poems of TOLKIEN

One Ring

Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,
Ash nazg thrakutulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Bilbo's Last Song (At The Grey Havens)

Day is ended, dim my eyes,
But journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship's beside the stony wall.

Journey's End

In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.

Cat

The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;

Roads Go Ever On

Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;