#Welsh
A Letter To My Aunt Discussing… To you, my aunt, who would explore The literary Chankley Bore, The paths are hard, for you are no… A literary Hottentot
How soon the servant sun, (Sir morrow mark), Can time unriddle, and the cupboar… (Fog has a bone He’ll trumpet into meat),
I see the boys of summer in their… Lay the gold tithings barren, Setting no store by harvest, freez… There in their heat the winter flo… Of frozen loves they fetch their g…
When once the twilight locks no lo… Locked in the long worm of my fing… Nor damned the sea that sped about… The mouth of time sucked, like a s… The milky acid on each hinge,
It’s my belief that every man Should do his share of work, And in our economic plan No citizen should shirk. That in return each one should get
Over Sir John’s hill, The hawk on fire hangs still; In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dus… And gallows, up the rays of his ey… And the shrill child’s play
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
There once was a Square, such a s… And he loved a trim Triangle; But she was a flirt and around her… Vainly she made him dangle. Oh he wanted to wed and he had no…
A saint about to fall, The stained flats of heaven hit an… To the kissed kite hems of his sha… On the last street wave praised The unwinding, song by rock,
Now as I was young and easy under… About the lilting house and happy… The night above the dingle starry, Time let me hail and climb Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
How shall my animal Whose wizard shape I trace in the… Vessel of abscesses and exultation… Endure burial under the spelling w… The invoked, shrouding veil at the…
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 force that through the green f… Drives my green age; that blasts t… Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked… My youth is bent by the same wintr…
Ears in the turrets hear Hands grumble on the door, Eyes in the gables see The fingers at the locks. Shall I unbolt or stay