A becomes an before a vowel or before h mute for the sake of euphony or agreeable sound to the ear. An apple, an orange, an heir, an honor, etc. STYLE It is the object of every writer to put his thoughts into as effective f... Read more of A OR AN at Speaking Writing.comInformational Site Network Informational.ca
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Wales Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Address To The Summer
of Llanbadarn Fawr, Cardiganshire, and was born about ...

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

The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife
Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win...

The Swan
Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like...

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

An Ode On The Death Of Hoel
of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d...

Walter Sele
O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo...

The Mountain Galloway
My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy...

Translated By The Rev William Evans
God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ...

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

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

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

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



The Cuckoo's Tale






Category: The Sentimental.

Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home;
With the tidings of summer thy bright pinions roam--
The summer that thickens with foliage the glade,
And lures to the woodland the poet and maid.
Sweet as "sack," gentle bird, is thy beautiful voice,
In thy accents the lover must ever rejoice:
Oh! tell me at once, in thy musical lay,
Where tarries the girl whose behest I obey.

"Poor bard," said the cuckoo, "what anguish and pain
Hast thou stored for thyself, all thy cares are in vain,
All hopes of the maid thou awaitest resign,
She has wedded another, and ne'er can be thine."

"For the tale thou hast told"--to the cuckoo I cried,
"For thus singing to me of my beautiful bride
These strains of thy malice--may winter appear
And dim the sun's light--stay the summer's career;
With frost all the leaves of the forest boughs fill,
And wither the woods with his desolate chill,
And with cold in the midst of thy own forest spray,
Take thy life and thy song, foolish cuckoo, away!"





Next: Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival
Previous: May And November


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