Musical as birds are the Cammarch waters I see
Keeping the white, slow village; and all around
Lie the familiar meadows. Bitterly
Have I missed you, Cammarch, and my own high ground

Oh, dark as August oaks, older than they,
Flowed the wide river then; time brought no tears
I was immortal as the long summer day
My love was Wales, her tremendous signatures.

Walking in hills the shape of thunder I learned
An alphabet of stone, how to decipher
The speech of mistletoe, and when the wind
Spent on a beach of grass cast up its treasure
I ran to grasp each secret and syllable
Hero and castaway, the wreck of fable,
The wish for love, the heavy news of death
...