Poems from the Henn Manuscript - Part 1
Cold is crept upon the gold
Where the sun is low:
Seagulls wheeling over the wold
Scream and seaward go.
Under the chill of the hills
I watch their northern flight:
No gleam of the lost eyes fills
Mine own with a strange delight.
Then in the wan Welsh land
Spring lingers on her way:
And my heart can understand,
For, he is away.
Where the sun is low:
Seagulls wheeling over the wold
Scream and seaward go.
Under the chill of the hills
I watch their northern flight:
No gleam of the lost eyes fills
Mine own with a strange delight.
Then in the wan Welsh land
Spring lingers on her way:
And my heart can understand,
For, he is away.
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