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Wales Poetry

Short Is The Life Of Man
Man's life, like any weaver's shuttle, flies, Or, like a t...

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

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

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

Song To Arvon
by the Rev. Evan Evans, a Clergyman of the Church of Eng...

By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma
...

Woman
Gentle Woman! thou most perfect Work of the Divine Arc...

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

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

The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn
Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl...

My Native Land
My soul is sad, my spirit fails, And sickness in my he...

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

The Holly Grove
Sweet holly grove, that soarest A woodland fort, an armed ...

The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe
There was a king in Mon, {62} A true lover to his grave; ...

To The Nightingale
river of that name was born at Mold, in Flintshire, in the...

Song Of The Foster-son, Love
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu...

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

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

The Farmer's Prayer
poems of the "Good Vicar Prichard of Llandovery" would be ...

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



The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife






Category: The Sentimental.

Restless wave! be still and quiet,
Do not heed the wind and freshet,
Nature wide is now fast sleeping,
Why art thou so live and stirring?
All commotion now is ending,
Why not thou thy constant rolling?

Rest thou sea! upon thy bosom
Is one from whom my thoughts are seldom,
Not his lot it is to idle,
But to work while he is able;
Be kind to him, ocean billow!
Sleep upon thy sandy pillow!

Wherefore should'st thou still be swelling?
Why not cease thy restless heaving?
There's no wind to stir the bushes,
And all still the mountain breezes:
Be thou calm until the morning
When he'll shelter in the offing.

* * * * *

Deaf art thou to my entreaty,
Ocean vast! and without mercy.
I will turn to Him who rules thee,
And can still thy fiercest eddy:
Take Thou him to Thy protection
Keep him from the wave's destruction!





Next: The Withered Leaf

Previous: The Ewe



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