Six small primroses to show us
Summer-time is ours;
Though, alas! locked up below us,
Lies our flower of flowers.

Sleep! to mother's love what matters
Passing time or tide?
On my ear your footstep patters,
Still my babe you bide.
All the others moving, moving,
Still disturb my breast;
But the dead have done with roving,
You alone have rest.

Then, beneath the primrose petals,
Sleep, our heart's delight!
Darkness o'er us deeply settles;
We must say "Good night!"
Your new cradle needs no shaking
On its quiet floor.
Sleep, my child! till you are waking
In my arms once more.





THE BALLAD OF THE OLD BACHELOR OF TY'N Y MYNYDD

(After W.J. Gruffydd, 1880- , one of the leading "New Bards")