Classic Poem

Friend, now for ever gone;
Soul that was dear to me;
No more to see a fretting sun
Set o'er an angry sea.

Lying now, silent, low,
The long night covers thee;
As I await north winds do blow
Musk of thy grave to me.

No more to quote Mynyddog, or the wise
Khayyam, around the cup. . . .
Asleep beneath the Odes of Arvon skies,
The wine all frozen up. . .

Shouldering through this strife,
I know not thou from me;
I seem to live a dual life—
One half are thoughts of thee.

No more!—It seems so futile to make friends,
Futile to love, O Lord!
Dreaming to live for aye, Death pulls, and rends,
And then—the broken chord. . . .

Dafydd fy Nhafydd bach
Trwm yw fy nghalon i;
Ond hidia ddim, mae'r nef yn iach—
Rhiw niwl yw d'angau di.

Friend, now for ever gone;
Soul that was dear to me;
No more to see a fretting sun
Set o'er an angry sea.

Lying now, silent, low,
The long night covers thee;
As I await north winds do blow
Musk of thy grave to me.

No more to quote Mynyddog, or the wise
Khayyam, around the cup. . . .
Asleep beneath the Odes of Arvon skies,
The wine all frozen up. . .

Shouldering through this strife,
I know not thou from me;
I seem to live a dual life—
One half are thoughts of thee.

No more!—It seems so futile to make friends,
Futile to love, O Lord!
Dreaming to live for aye, Death pulls, and rends,
And then—the broken chord. . . .

Dafydd fy Nhafydd bach
Trwm yw fy nghalon i;
Ond hidia ddim, mae'r nef yn iach—
Rhiw niwl yw d'angau di.