Welsh Journals

THE BRECKNOCK BEACONS I saw them in the rain, White flakes tossed along the summit, -The wild sheep of mountain pasture And swift as falling stars The streams hurling their turbulence Down to the valley between, And now I hear from the lost places A sky-lark's madrigal And a stream, Llanharan. TEGWEN LEWIS. -The soft smoke-showers of June, Inviolate, proud, Under the slate-grey skies -Silver thrusted, beautiful, In the shrouded light Before I snuff the light, -Far, far out in the muffled skies, —Tearing, lifting Into thunderous applause