#WelshWriters
Then was my neophyte, Child in white blood bent on its k… Under the bell of rocks, Ducked in the twelve, disciple sea… The winder of the water—clocks
Twenty-four years remind the tears… (Bury the dead for fear that they… In the groin of the natural doorwa… Sewing a shroud for a journey By the light of the meat-eating su…
On no work of words now for three… bloody Belly of the rich year and the big… I bitterly take to task my poverty… To take to give is all, return wha…
It is a winter’s tale That the snow blind twilight ferri… And floating fields from the farm… Gliding windless through the hand… The pale breath of cattle at the s…
I make this in a warring absence w… Each ancient, stone-necked minute… Harbours my anchored tongue, slips… When, praise is blessed, her pride… Sailed and set dazzling by the han…
Foster the light nor veil the mans… Nor weather winds that blow not do… But strip the twelve-winded marrow… Master the night nor serve the sno… That shapes each bushy item of the…
All all and all the dry worlds lev… Stage of the ice, the solid ocean, All from the oil, the pound of lav… City of spring, the governed flowe… Turns in the earth that turns the…
Because the pleasure-bird whistles… Shall the blind horse sing sweeter… Convenient bird and beast lie lodg… The supper and knives of a mood. In the sniffed and poured snow on…
Myselves The grievers Grieve Among the street burned to tireles… A child of a few hours
Here in this spring, stars float a… Here in this ornamental winter Down pelts the naked weather; This summer buries a spring bird. Symbols are selected from the year…
Too proud to die; broken and blind… The darkest way, and did not turn… A cold kind man brave in his narro… On that darkest day, Oh, forever… He lie lightly, at last, on the la…
A bunch of the boys were whooping… The kid that handles the music—box… Back of the bar, in a solo game, s… And watching his luck was his ligh… When out of the night, which was f…
How soon the servant sun, (Sir morrow mark), Can time unriddle, and the cupboar… (Fog has a bone He’ll trumpet into meat),
Grief thief of time crawls off, The moon-drawn grave, with the sea… The knave of pain steals off The sea-halved faith that blew tim… The old forget the cries,
Do not go gentle into that good ni… Old age should burn and rave at cl… Rage, rage against the dying of th… Though wise men at their end know… Because their words had forked no…