Wales Poetry

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

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

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

The Dawn
Streaking the mantle of deep night The rays of light ...

Pennillion
Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g...

The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl...

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

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

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

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

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

The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i...

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

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

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

Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan
Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt...

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

The Shipwreck
a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet....

The Circling Of The Mead Horns
Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead...

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

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

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