#WelshWriters
Into her lying down head His enemies entered bed, Under the encumbered eyelid, Through the rippled drum of the ha… And Noah’s rekindled now unkind d…
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…
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…
The tombstone told when she died. Her two surnames stopped me still. A virgin married at rest. She married in this pouring place, That I struck one day by luck,
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…
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…
Waking alone in a multitude of lov… Surprised in the opening of her ni… His golden yesterday asleep upon t… And this day’s sun leapt up the sk… Was miraculous virginity old as lo…
Our eunuch dreams, all seedless in… Of light and love, the tempers of… Whack their boy’s limbs, And, winding—footed in their shawl… Groom the dark brides, the widows…
Before I knocked and flesh let en… With liquid hands tapped on the wo… I who was shapeless as the water That shaped the Jordan near my ho… Was brother to Mnetha’s daughter
Never until the mankind making Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darknes… Tells with silence the last light… And the still hour
My hero bares his nerves along my… That rules form wrist to shoulder, Unpacks the head that, like a slee… Leans on my mortal ruler, The proud spine spurning turn and…
Shall gods be said to thump the cl… When clouds are cursed by thunder, Be said to weep when weather howls… Shall rainbows be their tunics’ co… When it is rain where are the gods…
Where once the waters of your face Spun to my screws, your dry ghost… The dead turns up its eye; Where once the mermen through your… Pushed up their hair, the dry wind…
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…
When I was a windy boy and a bit And the black spit of the chapel f… (Sighed the old ram rod, dying of… I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wo… The rude owl cried like a tell-tal…