Maytime, loveliest season,
Loud bird-parley, new growth green,
Ploughs in furrow, oxen yoked,
Emerald sea, land-hues dappled.
When cuckoos call from fair tree-tops
Greater grows my sorrow;
Stinging smoke, grief awake
For my kinsfolk’s passing.
On hill, in vale, in ocean’s isles,
Whichever way man goes,
Blest Christ there’s no evading.
(13th century Welsh poem)
In the original Welsh:
‘Tristwch yn y Gwanwyn’
Cyntefin ceinaf amser,
Dyar adar, glas calledd,
Ereidr yn Rhych, ych yng ngwedd,
Gwyrdd mor, brithotor tiredd.
Ban ganont gogau ar flaen gwydd gwiw,
Handid mwy fy llawfrydedd,
Tost mwg, amlwg anhunedd,
Can ethynt fy ngheraint yn adwedd.
Ym mryn, yn nhyno, yn ynysedd mor,
Ymhob ffordd ydd eler
Rhag Crist gwyn nid oes ynialedd.
(Anonymous British)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Grief PoemsBased on Keywords: cuckoos, crist, kinsfolk, mor, maytime, welsh, glas, nid, evading, oes, ych