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Wales Poetry

Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...

The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...

Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...

The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go...

The World And The Sea: A Comparison
Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ...

The Poor Man's Grave
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound ...

The Mountain Galloway
My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy...

The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...

Roderic's Lament
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...

The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...

An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...

The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...

To May
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...

May And November
Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for...

The Castles Of Wales
Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of...

Woman
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...

The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...

The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...

To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...

The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...



Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival






Category: The Religious.

Too long I've loved the fickle maid,
My love is turned to grief and pain;
In vain delusive hopes I stray'd,
Through days that ne'er will dawn again;
And she, in beauty like the dawn,
From me has now her heart withdrawn!
A constant suitor--on her ear
My sweetest melodies I pour'd;
Where'er she wander'd I was near;
For her whose face my soul ador'd
My wealth I madly spent in wine,
And gorgeous jewels of the mine.
I deck'd her arms with lovely chains,
With bracelets wove of slender gold;
I sang her charms in varied strains,
Her praise to every minstrel told:
The bards of distant Keri know
That she is spotless as the snow.
These proofs of love I hoped might bind
My Morfydd to be ever true:
Alas! to deep despair consign'd,
My bosom's blighted hopes I rue,
And the base craft that gave her charms,
Oh, anguish! to another's arms!





Next: From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn

Previous: The Cuckoo's Tale



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