#WelshWriters
Laid now on his smooth bed For the last time, watching dully Through heavy eyelids the day’s co… Widow the sky, what can he say Worthy of record, the books all op…
When he came in, she was there. When she looked at him, he smiled. There were lights in time’s wave breaking on an eternal shore.
I was vicar of large things in a small parish. Small-minded I will not say, there were depths in some of them I shrank back from, wells that the word “God”
Shelley dreamed it. Now the dream… The props crumble; the familiar wa… Are stale with tears trodden under… The heart’s flower withers at the… Bury it then, in history’s sterile…
Evans? Yes, many a time I came down his bare flight Of stairs into the gaunt kitchen With its wood fire, where crickets… Accompaniment to the black kettle’…
I want you to know how it was, whether the Cross grinds into dust under men’s wheels or shines brigh… as a monument to a new era. There was a church and one man
It is calm. It is as though we lived in a garden that had not yet arrived at the knowledge of
We met under a shower of bird-notes. Fifty years passed, love’s moment
Scarcely a street, too few houses To merit the title; just a way bet… The one tavern and the one shop That leads nowhere and fails at th… Of the short hill, eaten away
Who put that crease in your soul, Davies, ready this fine morning For the staid chapel, where the B… Sobers the sunlight? Who taught y… And scheme at once, your eyes turn…
I have been all men known to histo… Wondering at the world and at time… I have seen evil, and the light bl… Innocent love under a spring sky. I have been Merlin wandering in t…
It is this great absence that is like a presence, that comp… me to address it without hope of a reply. It is a room I enter from which someone has just
And this was a civilization That came to nothing—he spurned wi… The slave—coloured dust. We breat… Thankfully, oxygen to our culture. Somebody found a curved bone
We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.
My garden is the wild Sea of the grass. Her garden Shelters between walls. The tide could break in; I should be sorry for this.