Far over the Misty Mountains cold to dungeons deep and caverns old we must away ere break of day to find our long-forgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread; the trees like torches blazed with light. On silver necklaces they strung the flowering stars, on crowns they hung the dragon-fire, in twisted wire they meshed the light of moon and sun.