My hope, my love, we will go
Into the woods, scattering the dews,
Where we will behold the salmon, and
the ousel in its nest,
The deer, and the roebuck calling;
The sweetest bird on the branches
The cuckoo on the top of the green hill;
And death shall never find us
In the bosom of the fragrant wood.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
Before Geraint, the enemy's scourge,
I saw white horses, tensed, red,
After the war cry, bitter the grave...
In Llongborth, I saw the clash of swords,
Men in terror, bloody heads,
Before Geraint the Great, his father's son.
In Llongborth I saw the spurs
And men who did not flinch from spears,
Who drank their wine from glass that glinted...
In Llongborth I saw Arthur's
Heroes who cut with steel.
The Emperor, ruler of our labour.
In Llongborth Geraint was slain.
Heroes of the land of Dyfeint,
Before they were slain, they slew.
Under the thigh of Geraint swift chargers,
Long their legs, wheat their fodder,
Red, swooping like milk white eagles...
When Geraint was born, Heaven's gate stood open;
Christ granted all our prayers;
Lovely to behold, the glory of Britain.