Classic Poem

For gay bard, barren summer,
Barren the world for a bard.
I was stripped bare, grief's comrade,
For choosing this month to tryst.
Today in Gwynedd remains
No moon, no light, no colour,
Since they placed, sorry welcome,
Beauty's moon in the hard ground.

Fair girl in the chest of oak,
I'm bent on wrath, you left me.
Lovely form, Gwynedd's candle,
Though you are closed in the grave,
Arise, come up, my dearest,
Open the dark door of earth,
Refuse the long bed of sand,
And come to face me, maiden.
Here is, heavy cost of grief,
Above your grave, sun's radiance,
A sad-faced man without you,
Llywelyn, bell of your praise.
Wailing bard, I am walking
A foul world, priest of lust's bliss.
Dear one, whose worth grew daily,
Yesterday over your grave
I let tears fall in torrents
Like a rope across my cheeks.

But you, mute girl's fair image,
From the pit made no reply.
Sadly silent, lacking love.
You promised, speechless maiden,
Mild your manner, silk-shrouded,
To stay for me, pure bright gem,
Till I came, I know the truth,
Strong safeguard, from the southland.
I heard nothing, straight-spoken,
But the truth, slim silent girl,
Measure of maidens, Indeg,
Before this, from your sweet mouth.
Hard blow, why care where's my home,
You broke faith, and it grieves me.
You are, my cywydd is false,
Truthful, words sweetly spoken:
It's I, grief's spilled-out language,
Who lie in sad harmonies;
I'm lying, skimping prayer,
Lying the words I have cried.
I will leave Gwynedd today,
What care I where, bright beauty,
My fine flowering sweetheart:
If you lived, by God, I'd stay!
Where shall I, what care I where,
See you, fair moon's pure flower,
On Mount, Ovid's passion spurned,
Olivet, radiant maiden?
You've secured my place surely,
Lleucu, fair comely-hued wave,
Beautiful bright-skinned maiden,
Sleeper too long under stone.

Rise to finish the revels,
See if you thirst for some mead,
Come to your bard, whose laughter
Long ended, golden diadem.
Come, with your cheeks of foxgloves,
Up from the earth's dreary house.
A wayward trail the footprints,
No need to lie, my feet leave,
In faltering from passion
About your house, Lleucu Llwyd.
All the words, Gwynedd's lantern,
I've sung, complexion of snow,
Three groans of grief, gold-ringed hand,
Lleucu, praised you, my precious.
With these lips, deft my praise-craft,
What I'll sing, life-long, in praise,
My dear, foam's hue on rivers,
My love, will be your lament.

Lucid, sweet-spoken Lleucu,
My sweetheart's legacy was:
Her soul, Merioneth's treasure,
To God the Father, true vow;
Her slender, fine flour's colour,
Body to sanctified soil;
Girl mourned far, flour-white favour,
World's wealth to the proud dark man;
And yearning, lyric of grief,
This legacy she left me.

Two equal gifts, sad custom,
Pretty Lleucu, snow-spray's hue,
Earth and stone, bitter grief's gem,
Cover her cheeks, and oakwood.
Ah God, so heavy's the grave,
The earth on beauty's mistress.
Ah God, a coffin holds you,
Between us a house of stone,
Church chancel and stone curtain
And earth's weight and gown of wood.
Ah God, fair girl of Pennal,
A nightmare, buried your brow.
Hard lock of oak, bitter grief,
And earth, your brows were lovely,
And heavy door, heavy clasp,
And the land's floor between us,
A firm wall, a hard black lock,
A latch—farewell, my Lleucu.