#WelshWriters
In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arm…
Now as I was young and easy under… About the lilting house and happy… The night above the dingle starry, Time let me hail and climb Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
On almost the incendiary eve Of several near deaths, When one at the great least of you… And always known must leave Lions and fires of his flying brea…
When all my five and country sense… The fingers will forget green thum… How, through the halfmoon’s vegeta… Husk of young stars and handfull z… Love in the frost is pared and win…
Over Sir John’s hill, The hawk on fire hangs still; In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dus… And gallows, up the rays of his ey… And the shrill child’s play
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…
This bread I break was once the o… This wine upon a foreign tree Plunged in its fruit; Man in the day or wine at night Laid the crops low, broke the grap…
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…
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…
Hold hard, these ancient minutes i… Under the lank, fourth folly on G… As the green blooms ride upward, t… Time, in a folly’s rider, like a c… Over the vault of ridings with his…
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…
Unluckily for a death Waiting with phoenix under The pyre yet to be lighted of my s… And for the woman in shades Saint carved and sensual among 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…
—"Poem in October," Dylan Thomas, Poetry, February 1945 As the story goes, the thirty—something Dylan Thomas would only get up in the morning if someone stuffed a beer bottle in his mo...
Do you not father me, nor the erec… For my tall tower’s sake cast in h… Do you not mother me, nor, as I a… The lovers’ house, lie suffering m… Do you not sister me, nor the erec…