#Welsh
I thought my true love slept; Behind her chair I crept And pulled out a long pin; The golden flood came out, She shook it all about,
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…
When April scatters charms of pri… Among the copper leaves in thicket… And singing skylarks from the mead… To twinkle like black stars in sun… When I can hear the small woodpec…
I sit beneath your leaves, old oak… You mighty one of all the trees; Within whose hollow trunk a man Could stable his big horse with ea… I see your knuckles hard and stron…
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—
A week ago I had a fire To warm my feet, my hands and face… Cold winds, that never make a frie… Crept in and out of every place. Today the fields are rich in grass…
When on a summer’s morn I wake, And open my two eyes, Out to the clear, born-singing ril… My bird-like spirit flies. To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, T…
I pray you, Sadness, leave me soo… In sweet invention thou art poor! Thy sister, Joy can make ten song… While thou art making four. One hour with thee is sweet enough…
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…
Cold winds can never freeze, nor t… The cup of cheer that Beauty draw… Out of those Azure heavens and th… I drink and drink, and thirst the… To see the dewdrops thrill the bla…
Go, little boy, Fill thee with joy; For Time gives thee Unlicensed hours, To run in fields,
Now, joy is born of parents poor, And pleasure of our richer kind; Though pleasure’s free, she cannot… As sweet a song as joy confined. Pleasure’s a Moth, that sleeps by…
While joy gave clouds the light of… That beamed wher’er they looked; And calves and lambs had tottering… Excited, while they sucked; While every bird enjoyed his song,
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,
My mind has thunderstorms, That brood for heavy hours: Until they rain me words, My thoughts are drooping flowers And sulking, silent birds.