I’ve travelled far
    among green valleys,
where woods and fields
    like patchwork spread,
I took delight
    in ripening cornfields,
their golden grain
    and poppies scarlet red.
But now I’ve come
    where towering high above me
rise rugged castles
    carved from ancient stone:
      The rosy peaks
        of Toruane
      Stand glowing
        in the evening sun.

 I wandered once
    beside blue water,
where tiny waves
    danced on the sand;
I stayed to watch
    white horses tossing
and see the foam
    curl gently in to land.
But now I see
    the mystery of Losmaari,
and in the dark
    smooth surface, one by one,
       The rosy peaks
        of Toruane
       Lie mirrored
        in the evening sun.

 I must return
     where hills are greener,
  and daisies peep
     amid the grass.
  But I’ll remember
     banks of heather,
  and rust-red moss
     that springs back as you pass.
  So misty blue
     the islands in the morning,
  but fairer still
     to haunt me when I’m gone,
       The rosy peaks
        of Toruane
       Stand glowing
        in the evening sun.