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Wales Poetry

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

To The Daisy
Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,...

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

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

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

The Lament Op Llywarch Hen
The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ...

Concerning The Divine Providence
...

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

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

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

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

Old Morgan And His Wife
Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ...

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

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

My Father-land
Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str...

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

Dafydd Ap Gwilym To The White Gull
Bird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a...

Under The Orchard Tree
Under the deep-laden boughs of the orchard Walks a maid...

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

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



The Flowers Of Spring






Category: The Beautiful.

beautiful stanzas, from which the following translation is made, was an
eloquent minister of the Baptist Church in Wales, and died on the 20th
day of January, 1873, at the age of 54 years, at Beaufort, in
Monmouthshire, leaving a widow and seven children to mourn their great
loss. He was also an eminent poet, and one of his poems obtained the
chair prize at a Royal Eisteddfod. It may be remarked that the lamented
poet on his death bed (in answer to an application from the editor)
desired his wife to inform him that he was welcome to publish the
translations of his poems which appear in this collection.]

Oh, pleasant spring-time flowers
That now display their bloom,
The primrose pale, and cowslip,
Which nature's face illume;
The winter bleak appears
When you bedeck the land,
Like age bent down by years,
With a posy in its hand.

Oh, dulcet spring-time flowers
Sweet honey you contain,
And soon the swarming beehive
Your treasure will retain;
The busy bee's low humming
Is heard among your leaves,
Like sound of distant hymning,
Or reaper 'mid the sheaves.

Oh, balmy spring-time flowers,
The crocus bright and rose,
The lily sweet and tulip,
Which bloom within the close:
Anoint the passing breezes
Which sigh along the vale,
And with your dulcet posies
Perfume the evening gale.

Oh, wild-grown spring-time flowers
That grow beside the brook,
How happy once to ramble
Beneath your smiling look,
And of you form gay garlands
To deck the docile lamb,
In wreaths of colour'd neck-bands,
Beside its loving dam.

Oh, pretty spring-time flowers
None look so blithe and gay,
While dancing in the breezes
Upon the lap of May,
Your fragrant petals open
Beneath the balmy dew,
You're nature's rich heave-offering
On winter's grave anew.

Oh, wondrous spring-time flowers
Tho' death stalk all around,
Another spring will quicken
Your bloom upon the ground,
Speak hopeful, as you ripen,
Of yet another spring,
Where flowers never deaden
And seasons have no wing.





Next: To May

Previous: To The Nightingale



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