#Welsh
Yes, I will spend the livelong da… With Nature in this month of May; And sit beneath the trees, and sha… My bread with birds whose homes ar… While cows lie down to eat, and sh…
Good morning, Life—and all Things glad and beautiful. My pockets nothing hold, But he that owns the gold, The Sun, is my great friend—
They lived apart for three long ye… Bill Barnes and Nell his wife; He took his joy from other girls, She led a wicked life. Yet ofttimes she would pass his sh…
I saw this day sweet flowers grow… But not one like the child did pic… I heard the packhounds in green pa… But no dog like the child heard ba… I heard this day bird after bird—
When primroses are out in Spring, And small, blue violets come betwe… When merry birds sing on boughs gr… And rills, as soon as born, must s… When butterflies will make side-le…
Come, let us find a cottage, love, That’s green for half a mile aroun… To laugh at every grumbling bee, Whose sweetest blossom’s not yet f… Where many a bird shall sing for y…
And now, when merry winds do blow, And rain makes trees look fresh, An overpowering staleness holds This mortal flesh. Though well I love to feel the ra…
I saw the fog grow thick, Which soon made blind my ken; It made tall men of boys, And giants of tall men. It clutched my throat, I coughed;
Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; For Time gives thee Unlicensed hours, To run in fields,
She walks as lightly as the fly Skates on the water in July. To hear her moving petticoat For me is music’s highest note. Stones are not heard, when her fee…
What do we earn for all our gentle… A body stiff and cold from foot to… If you have beauty, what is beauty… A mask to hide it, made of common… What do we get for all our song an…
This life is sweetest; in this woo… I hear no children cry for food; I see no woman, white with care; No man, with muscled wasting here. No doubt it is a selfish thing
No idle gold—since this fine sun,… Is no mean miser, but doth freely… No prescious stones—since these gr… Without a charge, their pearls whe… No lifeless books—since birds with…
My mind has thunderstorms, That brood for heavy hours: Until they rain me words, My thoughts are drooping flowers And sulking, silent birds.
If I were gusty April now, How I would blow at laughing Rose… I’d make her ribbons slip their kn… And all her hair come loose. If I were merry April now,