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Wales Poetry

Gwilym Glyn And Ruth Of Dyffryn
In the depth of yonder valley, Where the fields are bright...

Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...

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

Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire,
Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o...

Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival
Too long I've loved the fickle maid, My love is turned to ...

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ...

An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...

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

Short Is The Life Of Man
Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t...

Tribanau
Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin...

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

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

A Bridal Song
Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are...

The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

The Banks Of The Dee
One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er...

Glan Geirionydd
. One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor...

My Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...

The Immovable Covenant
the Welsh of Mr. H. Hughes, was a Minister in the Baptist ...

From The Hymns Of The Rev William Williams, Pantycelyn
he inherited from his ancestors, was born in the parish of...



Farewell To Wales






Category: The Patriotic.

The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear;
Farewell; and a blessing be with thee, Greenland;
In thy halls, thy hearths, in thy pure mountain air,
On the strings of the harp and the minstrel's free hand;
From the love of my soul with my tears it is shed,
Whilst I leave thee, O land of my home and my dead.

I bless thee; yet not for the beauty which dwells
In the heart of thy hills, in the waves of thy shore;
And not for the memory set deep in thy dells
Of the bard and the warrior, the mighty of yore;
And not for thy songs of those proud ages fled,
Greenland, Poetland of my home and my dead.

I bless thee for all the true bosoms that beat,
Where e'er a low hamlet smiles, under thy skies,
For thy peasant hearths burping the stranger to greet,
For the soul that looks forth from thy children's bright eyes,
May the blessing, like sunshine, around thee be spread,
Greenland of my childhood, my home and my dead.





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