The Wind

Welkin's wind, way unhindered,
Big blusterer passing by,
A harsh-voiced man of marvels,
World-bold, without foot or wing,
How strange that sent from heaven's
Pantry with never a foot,
Now you can race so swiftly
Over the hillside above.
No bridge over stream, no boat;
Forewarned, you remain undrowned,
A free and easy crossing.
Winnowing leaves, you steal nests,
None charge you, you're not halted
By armed band, lieutenant's hand,
Blue blade or flood or downpour.
No sheriff or troop takes you,
Pruner of the treetop plumes.
No mother's son slays, crime's tale,
Fire burns, deceit undoes you.

Unspied, in your wide bare bed,
Nest of storms, thousands hear you,
The sky's swift signatory,
Fine leaper of nine wild lands.
Godsent you skim over ground,
Roar of an oak-top broken,
A thirsty creature, sharp-set,
A great sky-trampling progress,
Huntsman in lofty snow-fields
Loudly heaping useless husks.
Tell me, incessant hymn-tune,
Your course, north-wind of the glen,
Tempest fettering the sea,
Lad romping on the seastrand,
Rhetorician, magician,
Sower, pursuer of leaves,
Hurling, laughter on hillsides,
Wild masts in white-breasted brine.

You fly the length of the world,
Hover tonight, hill's weather:
O wind, go to Uwch Aeron,
A bright beauty, a clear tune.
Do not stay, do not steer clear,
Do not fear Bwa Bach's poisoned
Complaints and accusations;
Closed is that country to me.
Sad day for me when I set
My heart on golden Morfudd:
A girl has brought me exile;
Run above her father's home.
Pound the door, make it unlock
Before day to my envoy.
If there is a way, find her
And moan the sound of my sigh.

You come from the zodiac;
Tell my great-hearted darling
For as long as I may live
I am her faithful plaything.
Sad-faced am I without her
If truly she's not untrue.
Fly high, you'll see a beauty,
Fly low, find a road of sky.
Go to my pale blonde maiden,
Bounty of the sky, fare well.
Author of original: 
Dafydd ap Gwilym
Rate this poem: 

Become a Patron!


No reviews yet.