Classic Poem

I salute the most high lord,
the most worthy one, because he's a king.
I compose a poem in the first place,
a song of praise like Merlin sang,
my skill in verse to the women who own it
(how hesitant their virtue makes them!),
the best in all the country west
of Chester gates to Porth Ysgewin.

One is a girl who must be chiefly praised,
Gwenllian, summer-weather-hued;
the second is the one in the mantle and gold collar;
my lips are far from her.

Fair Gweirfyl, my gift, my mystery, whom I never had;
whom not one of my kin won;
though I be killed with double-edged blades,
it grieves me for the wife of a king's foster-brother.

For seemly Gwladus, shy, childish young woman,
beloved of the people,
I'll compose a secret sigh,
I'll praise her with the yellow of the gorse.

Soon may I see, with my vigour far removed from his,
and with my sword in my hand,
bright Lleucu, my love, laughing;
her husband won't laugh before the onrush.

I am involved in the strife that has come to me
and longing, alas, is natural,
for pretty Nest, like apple blossom,
my golden passion, heart of my sin.

For the virgin Generys who does not relieve my passion;
may she not insist on chastity!
For Hunydd there's matter till Doomsday,
for Hawis my chosen ritual.
I had a girl of the same mind one day;
I had two, their praise be the greater;
I had three and four and fortune;
I had five, splendid in their white flesh;
I had six without concealing sin;
a bright girl from above the white fort came to me;
I had seven and an arduous business it was;
I had eight, repaying some of the praise I sang;
teeth are good to keep the tongue quiet!