From the Welsh by Thomas Oliphant
WHERE are the men who went forth in the morning,
Hope brightly beaming in every face?
Fearing no danger,—the Saxon foe scorning,—
Little thought they of defeat or disgrace!
Fallen is their chieftain—his glory departed—
Fallen are the heroes who fought by his side!
Fatherless children now weep, broken...
-
-
Could that sweet Darkness where they dwell
Be once disclosed to us
The clamor for their loveliness
Would burst the Loneliness — -
Here, where the Daisies fit my Head
'Tis easiest to lie
And every Grass that plays outside
Is sorry, some, for me.
Where I am not afraid to go
I may confide my Flower —
Who was not Enemy of Me
Will gentle be, to Her.
Nor separate, Herself and Me
By... -
I know a place where Summer strives
With such a practised Frost —
She — each year — leads her Daisies back —
Recording briefly — "Lost" —
But when the South Wind stirs the Pools
And struggles in the lanes —
Her Heart misgives Her, for Her Vow —
And she pours soft Refrains
... -
I know where Wells grow — Droughtless Wells —
Deep dug — for Summer days —
Where Mosses go no more away —
And Pebble — safely plays —
It's made of Fathoms — and a Belt —
A Belt of jagged Stone —
Inlaid with Emerald — half way down —
And Diamonds — jumbled on —
It has... -
No matter where the Saints abide,
They make their Circuit fair
Behold how great a Firmament
Accompanies a Star. -
See where the Thames, the purest stream
That wavers to the noon-day beam,
Divides the vale below:
While like a vein of liquid ore
His waves enrich the happy shore,
Still shining as they flow.
Nor yet, my Delia, to the main
Runs the sweet tide without a stain,
... -
Where bells no more affright the morn —
Where scrabble never comes —
Where very nimble Gentlemen
Are forced to keep their rooms —
Where tired Children placid sleep
Thro' Centuries of noon
This place is Bliss — this town is Heaven —
Please, Pater, pretty soon!
"Oh could... -
Where every bird is bold to go
And bees abashless play,
The foreigner before he knocks
Must thrust the tears away. -
Where I have lost, I softer tread —
I sow sweet flower from garden bed —
I pause above that vanished head
And mourn.
Whom I have lost, I pious guard
From accent harsh, or ruthless word —
Feeling as if their pillow heard,
Though stone!
When I have lost, you'll know by...