THE BARD'S PRELUDE
I
O Strand of the sorrowful waves! O Strand of Bala! Once more
The wind-swept grass of your dunes is my whispering bed, and I hear
The songs your sorrowful waves moan always along the shore,
The old stories your winds through the grass come whispering in my ear.
II
They whisper, and all the coast is a druid mist in my eyes,
And my heart is a glory of flame, like a dewdrop's heart, when the sun
Kindles its heavenly colours; and round me clear visions rise,
As the eye within me opens, and my Path of the Seers is won.
