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Wales Poetry

Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to...

To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...

The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...

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

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

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

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 ...

Farewell To Wales
The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ...

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

The Vengeance Of Owain {96}
Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ...

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

King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares...

That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire
Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks, And reckless min...

Childe Harold
"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t...

The Fairy's Song
"Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ...

The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...

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

The Ewe
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...

The Eisteddfod,
Strike the harp: awake the lay! Let Cambria's voice be h...

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

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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