The best poem is that whose worked-upon unmagical passages come closest, in texture and intensity, to those moments of magical accident.

Love is the last light spoken.

Life always offers you a second chance. is called tomorrow.

And time cast forth my mortal creature To drift or drown upon the seas Acquainted with the salt adventure Of tides that never touch the shores. - I who was rich was made the richer By sipping at the the vine of days.

My birthday began with the water - Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name.

Too many of the artists of Wales spend too much time talking about the position of theartists of Wales.There is only one position for an artist anywhere: and that is, upright.

My tears are like the quiet drift of petals from some magic rose; and all my grief flows from the rift of unremembered skies and snows. I think that if I touched the earth, it would crumble; it is so sad and beautiful, so tremulously like a dream.