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Wales PoetryThe Bard's Long-tried Affection For MorfyddAll my lifetime I have been Bard to Morfydd, "golden m... The Banks Of The Dee One morning in May, when soft breezes were blowing O'er... The Withered Leaf Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ... The Praise And Commendation Of A Good Woman As a wise child excells the sceptr'd fool Who of conceit a... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ... A Bridal Song Wilt thou not waken, bride of May, While the flowers are... Childe 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 ... Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Invocation To The Summer To Visit Glamorganshire, Where he spent many happy years at the hospitable mansion o... The Swan Thou swan, upon the waters bright, In lime-hued vest, like... An Ode On The Death Of Hoel of the sixth century. He was himself a soldier, and d... To The Lark "Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the... Old Morgan And His Wife Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... Walter Sele O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo... Llywarch Hen's Lament On Cynddylan Taliesin in the sixth century. He was engaged at the batt... Woman Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc... 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... |
The Grove Of BroomCategory: The Sentimental. The girl of nobler loveliness Than countess decked in golden dress, No longer dares to give her plight To meet the bard at dawn or night! To the blythe moon he may not bear The maid, whose cheeks the daylight wear-- She fears to answer to his call At midnight, underneath yon wall-- Nor can he find a birchen bower To screen her in the morning hour; And thus the summer days are fleeting Away, without the lovers meeting! But stay! my eyes a bower behold, Where maid and poet yet may meet, Its branches are arrayed in gold, Its boughs the sight in winter greet With hues as bright, with leaves as green, As summer scatters o'er the scene. (To lure the maiden) from that brake, For her a vesture I will make, Bright as the ship of glass of yore, That Merddin o'er the ocean bore; O'er Dyfed's hills there was a veil In ancient days--(so runs the tale); And such a canopy to me This court, among the woods, shall be; Where she, my heart adores, shall reign, The princess of the fair domain. To her, and to her poet's eyes, This arbour seems a paradise; Its every branch is deftly strung With twigs and foliage lithe and young, And when May comes upon the trees To paint her verdant liveries, Gold on each threadlike sprig will glow, To honour her who reigns below. Green is that arbour to behold, And on its withes thick showers of gold! Joy to the poet and the maid, Whose paradise is yonder shade! Oh! flowers of noblest splendour, these Are summer's frost-work on the trees! A field the lovers now possess, With saffron o'er its verdure roll'd, A house of passing loveliness, A fabric of Arabia's gold-- Bright golden tissue, glorious tent, Of him who rules the firmament, With roof of various colours blent! An angel, 'mid the woods of May, Embroidered it with radiance gay-- That gossamer with gold bedight-- Those fires of God--those gems of light! 'Tis sweet those magic bowers to find, With the fair vineyards intertwined; Amid the wood their jewels rise, Like gleams of starlight o'er the skies-- Like golden bullion, glorious prize! How sweet the flowers which deck that floor, In one unbroken glory blended-- Those glittering branches hovering o'er-- Veil by an angel's hand extended. Oh! if my love will come, her bard Will, with his case, her footsteps guard, There, where no stranger dares to pry, Beneath yon Broom's green canopy! Next: That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire Previous: The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd
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