(After Eifion Win, the contemporary Welsh poet)
Though the blue slab hides our laddy,
Slumber, free of fear!
Well we know it, I and daddy,
Naught can harm you here.
You and all the little sleepers,
Their small graves within,
Have bright angels for door-keepers.
Sleep, Goronwy Wyn!
Ah, too well I now remember,
Darling, when you slept,
How the children from your chamber
Jealously I kept.
Now how willingly to wake you
I would let them in,
If their merry noise could make you
Move, Goronwy Wyn!
Sleep, though mother is not near you,
In God's garden green!
Flower-Sunday gifts we bear you,
Lovely to be seen;
Six small primroses to show us
Summer-time is ours;
Though, alas! locked up below us,
Lies our flower of flowers.
Sleep! to mother's love what matters
Passing time or tide?
On my ear your footstep patters,
Still my babe you bide.
All the others moving, moving,
Still disturb my breast;
But the dead have done with roving,
You alone have rest.
Then, beneath the primrose petals,
Sleep, our heart's delight!
Darkness o'er us deeply settles;
We must say "Good night!"
Your new cradle needs no shaking
On its quiet floor.
Sleep, my child! till you are waking
In my arms once more.