#Welsh
This day winding down now At God speeded summer’s end In the torrent salmon sun, In my seashaken house On a breakneck of rocks
I have longed to move away From the hissing of the spent lie And the old terrors’ continual cry Growing more terrible as the day Goes over the hill into the deep s…
Sometimes the sky’s too bright, Or has too many clouds or birds, And far away’s too sharp a sun To nourish thinking of him. Why is my hand too blunt
Lie still, sleep becalmed, suffere… In the throat, burning and turning… On the silent sea we have heard th… That came from the wound wrapped i… Under the mile off moon we tremble…
Being but men, we walked into the… Afraid, letting our syllables be s… For fear of waking the rooks, For fear of coming Noiselessly into a world of wings…
Incarnate devil in a talking snake… The central plains of Asia in his… In shaping-time the circle stung a… In shapes of sin forked out the be… And God walked there who was a fi…
The conversation of prayers about… By the child going to bed and the… Who climbs to his dying love in he… The one not caring to whom in his… And the other full of tears that s…
The hand that signed the paper fel… Five sovereign fingers taxed the b… Doubled the globe of dead and halv… These five kings did a king to dea… The mighty hand leads to a sloping…
All all and all the dry worlds lev… Stage of the ice, the solid ocean, All from the oil, the pound of lav… City of spring, the governed flowe… Turns in the earth that turns the…
It was my thirtieth year to heaven Woke to my hearing from harbour an… And the mussel pooled and the hero… Priested shore The morning beckon
(for Llewelyn) This side of the truth, You may not see, my son, King of your blue eyes In the blinding country of youth,
And death shall have no dominion. Dead men naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the w… When their bones are picked clean… They shall have stars at elbow and…
Do not go gentle into that good ni… Old age should burn and rave at cl… Rage, rage against the dying of th… Though wise men at their end know… Because their words had forked no…
Who Are you Who is born In the next room So loud to my own
From love’s first fever to her pla… And the hollow minute of the womb, From the unfolding to the scissore… The time for breast and the green… When no mouth stirred about the ha…
