The deep spaces between stars , Fathomless as the cold shadow His mind cast.

They left no books , Memorial to their lonely thought In grey parishes: rather they wrote On men's hearts and in the minds Of young children sublime words Too soon forgotten. God in his time Or out of time will correct this.

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

I have nowhere to go. The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow.

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.

It is too late to start For destinations not of the heart . I must stay here with my hurt.

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