My organ hid be cuckoo!
Paters, seemly hours and psalm
Bird voices calm re-echo!
Mystic masses, sweet addresses,
Blackbird, be thou offering;
Till God His Bard to Paradise
Uplift from sighs and suffering.





THE LAST CYWYDD

(After Dafydd ab Gwilym)


Memories fierce like arrows pierce;
Alone I waste and languish,
And make my cry to God on high
To ease me of mine anguish.
If heroic was my youth,
In truth its powers are over;
With brain dead and force sped,
Love sets at naught the lover!
The Muse from off my lips is thrust,
'Tis long since song has cheered me;
Gone is Ivor, counsellor just,
And Nest, whose grace upreared me!
Morfydd, all my world and more,