Wales Poetry

The Battle Of Gwenystrad
contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe...

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

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

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

To May
the following and several other poems in this collection. ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman
As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a...

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

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

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...

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

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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