The Wave on the River Dyfi

	Turbulent, loud–voiced wave with the curly head,

	don't prevent me (an omen of favour) from crossing over

	to that land there where I shall have my reward,

4	don't detain me, don't hold me back.

	For Lord God's sake (gracious succour),

	let me row across Dyfi's water.

	Turn back, home to three hundred nets,

8	I am your poet, you are up there above the water.

	With his lips has any other sung

	as much praise to your masterly roar —

	sail's companion, salt–sea's gem —

12	as I, ocean's curling crest?

	There was no great zodiac–wind,

	nor furious assault nor bitter wrath redoubled,

	nor swift battle nor spear,

16	nor the shoulder of a horse or of man,

	that I would not compare (I know hardship),

	strong forceful wave, to your own strength.

	There was no organ or harp,

20	nor any man's tongue with faultless praise,

	that I would not judge as powerful,

	blue sea–swell, as your great fine voice.

	I will not utter another word

24	about my beloved, she of treacherous fortune, image of Nyf,

	except to compare her radiant beauty

	and her fair form to your flood.

	Be sure, therefore, not to prevent me,

28	bright jousting–woman of the clear rippling water,

	from going yonder (my darling will blame me for it)

	through a birch–grove to Llanbadarn

	to a girl who brought me back — a prosperous, eloquent lord —

32	(gentle maid) from death to life.

	My predicament is dire,

	companion and horsewoman of the sea:

	you're a buttress that keeps me from my homeland,

36	with your nose restrain the torrent's reins.

	If only you knew, grey–cloaked wave —

	you're a fair shining hostess to a shoal of fish —

	how great my reprimand for my delay!

40	You're a mantle for that other shore.

	Though I've come for the sake of Indeg's equal

	as far as your breast, fair wave,

	the war of any foe won't slay me

44	if you should withhold me from the girl's land;

	it's the seven score degrees of love that will kill me,

	don't keep me from Morfudd, my golden maid.