The Rose Of Llan Meilen
Sweet Rose of Llan Meilen! you bid me forget
That ever in moments of pleasure we met;
You bid me remember no longer a name
The muse hath already companioned with fame;
And future ap Gwilyms, fresh wreaths who compose,
Shall twine with the chaplet of song for the brows
Of each fair Morvida, Llan Meilen's sweet Rose.
Had the love I had loved been inconstant or gay,
at most but a long summer's day,
Growing cold when the splendour of noontide hath set,
I might have forgotten that ever we met.
But long as Eryri its peak shall expose
To the sunshine of summer, or winter's cold snows,
My love will endure for Llan Meilen's sweet Rose.
Then bid me not, maiden, remember no more
A name which affection and love must adore,
'Till affection and love become one with the breath
Of life in the silent oblivion of death,
Perchance in that hour of the spirit's repose,
But not until then, when the dark eyelids close,
Can this fond heart forget thee, Llan Meilen's sweet Rose.