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| Some people grow old gracefully, while others fight and scratch the whole way. Andy's wife, refusing to give in to the looks of growing old, goes out and buys a new line of expensive cosmetics guaranteed to make her look years younger. After ... Read more of How old am I? at Free Jokes.ca | Informational Privacy |
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Wales PoetryChilde Harold"Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t... The Vengeance Of Owain {96} Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ... The Hall Of Cynddylan The Hall of Cynddylan is gloomy to-night, I weep, for th... The Withered Leaf Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ... The Day Of Judgment was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church... 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 Castles Of Wales Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of... 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 ... Glan Geirionydd . One time upon a summer day I saunter'd on the shor... The Battle Of Gwenystrad contemporary of Aneurin in the sixth century. He appe... The Fairy's Song "Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ... The Shipwreck a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet.... Tribanau Serjeant Parry, the eminent barrister) says: "The followin... Taliesin's Prophecy A voice from time departed, yet floats thy hills among,... The Faithful Maiden At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi... May And November Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for... The Ewe So artless art thou, gentle ewe! Thy aspect kindles... Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... |
The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of GotheCategory: The Beautiful. There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; To whom in death his lady A golden goblet gave. When Christmas bowls were circling, And all was joy and cheer, He passed that goblet from him With a kiss and with a tear. When death he felt approaching, To all his barons bold, He left some fair dominion-- To none, that cup of gold. He sate at royal banquet, With all his lordly train, In the castle of his fathers, On the rock above the main. Upstood the tottering monarch, And drank the cup's last wine; Then flung the holy goblet, Deep, deep, into the brine. He watch'd it, bubbling, sinking, Far, far, beneath the wave; And the light sank from his eyelid, With the cup his lady gave. Next: The Sick Man's Dream Previous: The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
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