BLODEUWEDD

Math, upon a summer day,

Gathered blossoms of the May;

Cherry-blossom, too, which fell

On the surface of a well;

Silver froth, and foam of flowers,

Golden rays on drifting showers;

Dew, and frost, and flames of fire,

And he fashioned his desire:

Made a woman, slim and fair,

Blodeuwedd of the lovely hair.

Blodeuwedd of the shining face

Ranged the forest, with the grace

Of a forest-thing, as wild,

Wilful as a wanton child.

How could men withhold their eyes

From her? She was light, the skies,

Dawn, and dew to them. It seemed,

Looking at her, that they dreamed

All the joys of heaven had been

Hidden her twin breasts between,

Bound upon her tranquil brows

That were white as winter snows,

Hidden in her curving lips,

Folded round her flowing hips.

Yea! for them she seemed to shine

With a beauty all divine.

Blodeuwedd of the little ears

Had, alas! no gift of tears,

Had no heart at all to love,

Knew not what deep sorrows move

Through the dim ways of our heart,

Knew of mortal grief no part.

She, like sunlight through the rain,

Drifted through our world of pain,

Fed her joy with myriad kisses,

Stolen pleasures, honeyed blisses;

Then danced on her wanton way

Like a gleam of gold through gray.

Men fell, knowing they would fall,

For Math gave no heart at all.

Blodeuwedd, I have made in thee

Of my love's deep sorcery,

Even as Math made the gay

Heartless one from flowers of May,

Foam, and frost, and shining dew,

Shall I find a heart in you?