Welsh Journals

I know not by what path I found the glen, What green path drew me to those leafy deeps The day, with all his hosts was on the hill Streaming aloft the spangled joy of larks Like pennons in the wind while night and I By many a tangled path, shrank deep and deeper Into the silence of the forest soft- Clung in our fevered dread unto its heart. Long, long, we tarried, till we could forth Again: and tarrying long I lay me down Weary with fear at some tall giant's feet: A pine it was and it had spread for me A soft brown bed and sweet, while kindly night Astoop beneath the branch, with shaking hand Threw o'er me his own tattered cloak but sleep Not coming nigh to soothe my frenzied dreams, My pain stared out into the canopy Where many a sunlit ribbon quivered, torn And tangled 'mid the branches of the pine. When lo I from somewhere in the day above There came a sound with healing in its wing, Falling so gently through the twilit trees Into the anguished midnight of a soul So nigh it fell I heard its throbbing heart Noon deep, languid light, that quivers in the sky And fires the gorse-clad hills to throbbing gold. One pale distant spire. A seagull's cry That wakes dim echoes-but to sleep once more. A valley steals down to the rock-strewn shore And dreams in cool content of things long told This is a place of dreams, of drowsy fields Of moon-filled haunts, and level yellow sands Of little worn, grey houses by the road Where dwell those who with strong, enduring hands Untied the knot of life; whose patience yields To death alone who walking 'neath a load Of sacrifice and silent thought for years Have found sweet peace for all their bitter tears By shadowy waysides and bowed, aged hills Who know the secret, tender night fulfills The promise of the glowing, fragrant noon. Aberystwyth. THE DOVE OF GOD Telling of pity and all tenderness By it all sweetest melody was harsh Silence itself was discord I Looking up I saw anew the pine tree's awesome height; Through one bright gap I e'en beheld afar The tall, tall branches with unbended backs Carrying the clouds into the Blue Eternal And then I trembled more, for then I knew, Kneeling, that I had heard the Dove of God. Though I have lost again the path of green, That drew me to the wooded glen methinks I sometimes catch the echoes of the song In raining tears, in mothers lullabies, And in the full warm pity of violas And once I found an evening sad with peace And knew it was a feather from the nest, A soft blue feather from the holy wing I treasure still that feather soft and blue, The while I haunt the shore of leafy deeps, Seeking the pine tree where the music nests. Bridgend. Wm. Evans NOON Dorothy Noel Bonarjec.