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| O'er all my song the image of a face Lieth, like shadow on the wild sweet flowers. The dream, the ecstasy that prompts my powers; The golden lyre's delights bring little grace To bless the singer of a lowly race. Long hath this moc... Read more of The Negro Singer at Martin Luther King.ca | Informational Privacy |
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Wales PoetryThe Song Of The Fisherman's WifeRestless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win... Twenty Third Psalm My shepherd is the Lord above, Who ne'er will suffer me to... The Lord Of Clas The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and... To The Lark "Sentinel of the morning light! Reveller of the... The Mountain Galloway My tried and trusty mountain steed, Of Aberteivi's hardy... An Ode To The Thunder his bardic name of Dafydd Ionawr, was born in the year 1... The Fairy's Song "Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairy!"--SHAKSPEARE. ... The Lily And The Rose Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h... The Circling Of The Mead Horns Fill the blue horn, the blue buffalo horn: Natural is mead... The Withered Leaf Dry the leaf above the stubble, Soon 'twill fall into ... To The Daisy Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,... The Faithful Maiden At the dawning of day on a morning in May, When the bi... Pennillion Cymry, and was much practised in the houses of the Welsh g... May And November Sweet May, ever welcome! the palace of leaves Thy hand for... The Castles Of Wales Ye fortresses grey and gigantic I see on the hills of... The Rose Of The Glen Although I've no money or treasure to give, No palace or c... By The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma ... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... Childe Harold "Oh Gwynedd, fast thy star declineth, Thy name is gone, t... The Shipwreck a Welsh Congregationalist Minister, and an eminent poet.... |
The Song Of The Fisherman's WifeCategory: 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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