|Home - Collection of Stories - Famous Stories - Short Stories - Wales Poetry - Yiddish Tales|
Wales PoetryMy Native Cot
The white cot where I spent my youth Is on yon lofty mo...
To The Lark
"Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the...
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...
The Day Of Judgment
was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church...
Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...
The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the...
So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles...
* * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr...
The Lord Of Clas
The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and...
To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...
The Mother To Her Child After Its Father's Death
My gentle child, thou dost not know Why still on thee ...
Farewell To Wales
The voice of thy streams in my spirit I bear; Farewell; ...
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...
Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...
The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl...
Twenty Third Psalm
My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to...
The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...
The Sick Man's Dream
Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste...
The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...
The Rose Of The Glen
Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c...
The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
Category: The Sentimental.
All my lifetime I have been
Bard to Morfydd, "golden mien!"
I have loved beyond belief,
Many a day to love and grief
For her sake have been a prey,
Who has on the moon's array!
Pledged my truth from youth will now
To the girl of glossy brow.
Oh, the light her features wear,
Like the tortured torrent's glare!
Oft by love bewildered quite,
Have my aching feet all night
Stag-like tracked the forest shade
For the foam-complexioned maid,
Whom with passion firm and gay
I adored 'mid leaves of May!
'Mid a thousand I could tell
One elastic footstep well!
I could speak to one sweet maid--
(Graceful figure!)--by her shade.
I could recognize till death,
One sweet maiden by her breath!
From the nightingale could learn
Where she tarries to discern;
There his noblest music swells
Through the portals of the dells!
When I am from her away,
I have neither laugh nor lay!
Neither soul nor sense is left,
I am half of mind bereft;
When she comes, with grief I part,
And am altogether heart!
Songs inspired, like flowing wine,
Rush into this mind of mine;
Sense enough again comes back
To direct me in my track!
Not one hour shall I be gay,
Whilst my Morfydd is away!
Next: The Grove Of Broom
Previous: The Poor Man's Grave