My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled, Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun, All felled, felled, are all felled; Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared, not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow and river and wind-wandering weed-winding bank.

Ask of her, the mighty mother: Her reply puts this other Question: What is Spring?- Growth in everything.

O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew- Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being so slender, That, like this s…

Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales, All the air things wear that build this world of Wales.

When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead - When the cloud is scattered, The rainbow's glory is shed.

The ancient owls' nest must have burned. Hastily, all alone, a glistening armadillo left the scene, rose-flecked, head down, tail down

The earth with yellow pears And overgrown with roses wild Upon the pond is bent, And swans divine, With kisses drunk You drop your heads In the sublimely sober…