glorious Summer

Midsummer day, the Lady Arwen wed
To Aragorn, who'd waited all his life.
'Though all his cohort passed and long lie dead,
he's in his prime to take his high-born wife.
Earendil's  two lines  conjoin again
like Luthien took Beren long ago
as elvish lords, and kings of mortal men
rejoice in victory's soft afterglow.
One Age has passed, one Age begins with cheers.
'Though much of ancient grandeur most now fade
the wedding turns our minds to coming years
as genes and memes march down the long parade.
The narrative turns a portentous bend
but more remains to tell, before book's end.