I have been Merlin wandering in the woods Of a far country, where the winds waken Unnatural voices , my mind broken By a sudden acquaintance with man's rage.

somewhere within sight of the tree of poetry that is eternity wearing the green leaves of time .

The old men ask for more time; the young waste it. And the philosopher simply smiles, knowing there is none there.

Verse should be as natural As the small tuber that feeds on muck And grows slowly from obtuse soil To the white flower of immortal beauty

I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow.

To live in Wales is to be conscious at dusk of the spilled blood that went into the making of the wild sky

You cannot find the centre Where we dance , where we play, Where life is still asleep Under the closed flower , Under the smooth shell Of eggs in the cupped nest That mock the faded blue Of your remoter heaven .