Wales Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

An Ode To The Thunder
his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1...

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

The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v...

My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...

The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...

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

To The Spring
Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte...

The Lily And The Rose
Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h...

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

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

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

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

Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...

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

Translations From Miscellaneous Welsh Hymns
Had I but the wings of a dove, To regions afar I'd repa...

May And November

Category: The Sentimental.

Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves
Thy hand for thy wild band of choristers weaves;
Proud knight, that subduest with glory and power,
Each glen into verdure, to joy every bower;
That makest the wilderness laugh and rejoice,
In the chains of thy love, in thy cuckoo's shrill voice;
That fillest the heart of the lover with glee,
And bringest my Morfydd's dear image to me.

Alas! that dark Winter thy mansions should blight,
With his chill mottled show'rs, and his flickering light,
His moon that gleams wanly through snows falling fast,
His pale mist that floats on the wings of the blast:
With the voice of each river more fearfully loud--
Every torrent all foam, and the heaven all cloud!
Alas! that stern Winter has power to divide
Each lover from hope--from the poet his bride.





Next: The Cuckoo's Tale
Previous: The Swan

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