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Wales Poetry

Woman
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...

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

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

The Hall Of Cynddylan
The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th...

The Flowers Of Spring
beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cuckoo's Tale
Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the...

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

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

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...

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

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

The Withered Leaf
Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ...



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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