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Inconsiderate.ca - Find stories of inconsiderate people throughout history. These characters are rude, frauds, mean and sometimes crooks. Visit Inconsiderate.ca | Informational Privacy |
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Wales PoetryDafydd Ap Gwilym To The White GullBird that dwellest in the spray, Far from mountain woods a... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ... Snowdon King of the mighty hills! thy crown of snow Thou reares... Ode To Cambria Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and... Walter Sele O'er Walter's bed no foot shall tread, Nor step unhallo... Song Of The Foster-son, Love I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu... Dafydd Ap Gwilym's Address To Morfydd After She Married His Rival Too long I've loved the fickle maid, My love is turned to ... To The Lark "Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the... The World And The Sea: A Comparison Like the world and its dread changes Is the ocean when it ... My Native Land My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he... The Day Of Judgment was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church... The Castles Of Wales Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... The Rose Of Llan Meilen Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget That ever i... Old Morgan And His Wife Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ... Song To Arvon by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng... To The Spring Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte... Translated By The Rev William Evans God doth withhold no good from those Who meekly fear him ... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... |
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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