Wise old Bombadil, he was a wary fellow; bright blue his jacket was, and his boots were yellow. None ever caught old Tom in upland or in dingle, walking the forest-paths, or by the Withywindle, or out on the lily-pools in boat upon the water. But one day Tom, he went and caught the River-daughter, in green gown, flowing hair, sitting in the rushes, singing old water-songs to birds upon the bushes. He caught her, held her fast! Water-rats went scuttering reeds hissed, herons cried, and her heart was fluttering. Said Tom Bombadil: 'Here's my pretty maiden! You shall come home with me! The table is all laden: yellow cream, honeycomb, white bread and butter; roses at the window-sill and peeping round the shutter. You shall come under Hill! Never mind your mother in her deep weedy pool: there you'll find no lover!' Old Tom Bombadil had a merry wedding, crowned all with buttercups, hat and feather shedding; his bride with forgetmenots and flag-lilies for garland was robed all in silver-green. He sang like a starling, hummed like a honey-bee, lilted to the fiddle, clasping his river-maid round her slender middle. Lamps gleamed within his house, and white was the bedding; in the bright honey-moon Badger-folk came treading, danced down under Hill, and Old Man Willow tapped, tapped at window-pane, as they slept on the pillow, on the bank in the reeds River-woman sighing heard old Barrow-wight in his mound crying. Old Tom Bombadil heeded not the voices, taps, knocks, dancing feet, all the nightly noises; slept till the sun arose, then sang like a starling: 'Hey! Come derry-dol, merry-dol, my darling!' sitting on the door-step chopping sticks of willow, while fair Goldberry combed her tresses yellow.
Words by J. R. R. Tolkein.
Here is catbear performing it with music of his own fashioning.