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Wales PoetryThe Swan
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...
The Grove Of Broom
The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in go...
* * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr...
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...
An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...
Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire,
Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o...
The Monarchy Of Britain
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time, Ere spoilers h...
The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...
The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...
Translated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ...
The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...
The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...
Farewell every mountain To memory dear, Each streamlet...
To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...
The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...
The Flowers Of Spring
beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation ...
Sad Died The Maiden
Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew The anguish s...
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From me has now her heart withdrawn!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!
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