Old Tom Bombadil dozed upon the mound
Snored so loud he was heard underground
Dreaming was our Tom of his dearest lady fair
Sweet Goldberry, dressed with flowers in her hair

Sweet Goldberry, fresh as morning dew
To the River Woman’s daughter I’ll remain forever true

Old Ghost King in the barrow dank was waiting
Chains he was a-rattling while spells he was a making
Old Tom Bombadil had better wake form dreaming
Of the River Daughter, her smile bright and gleaming

Sweet Goldberry, fresh as morning dew
To the River Woman’s daughter I’ll remain forever true

Up rose the Barrow Wight with wicked sword a waving
Up jumped Bombadil who then began a raving
“Go back to your tomb now! Go far away from here!
You’ve woken me from dreaming of my Goldberry dear!”

Sweet Goldberry, fresh as morning dew
To the River Woman’s daughter I’ll remain forever true

Cursed was the Barrow King, no more he’d be a raising
So Tom skipped home to the warm fire a-blazing
Goldberry laughed out loud “Tom, how was your resting?”
She’d heard all the goings on and surely now was jesting!

Sweet Goldberry, fresh as morning dew
To the River Woman’s daughter I’ll remain forever true