Matins, he reads the lesson, A chasuble of plumage on. His cry from a grove, his brightshout Over countrysides rings out, Hill prophet, maker of moods, Passion's bright bard of glenwoods.
"Y Ceiliog Bronfraith" (The Thrush), line 7
Matins, he reads the lesson, A chasuble of plumage on. His cry from a grove, his brightshout Over countrysides rings out, Hill prophet, maker of moods, Passion's bright bard of glenwoods.
"Y Ceiliog Bronfraith" (The Thrush), line 7
