Classic Poem

Carmarthen hills are green and low,
And therealong the small sheep go
Whose voices to the valley come
At eve, when all things else are dumb.

Carmarthen hills within their arms
Hold many quiet white-walled farms;
The cattle feed by Towy banks,
Silken, sleek, with dapple flanks.

The roads between the villages
Are shy and shadowy with trees,
And every turn to left or right
Brings a new picture of delight,

And hazel boughs are everywhere,
So that in autumn, walking there
On any roadside hedge you'll find
The brown nuts nodding to the wind.

Carmarthen hills are green and low,
And therealong the small sheep go
Whose voices to the valley come
At eve, when all things else are dumb.

Carmarthen hills within their arms
Hold many quiet white-walled farms;
The cattle feed by Towy banks,
Silken, sleek, with dapple flanks.

The roads between the villages
Are shy and shadowy with trees,
And every turn to left or right
Brings a new picture of delight,

And hazel boughs are everywhere,
So that in autumn, walking there
On any roadside hedge you'll find
The brown nuts nodding to the wind.