The Clock
Early manner, fine intent,
I am singing a hundred greetings
to the lovely town by Rhiw Rheon
4 on the edge of the crag, and the round fortress.
There is one there who knew me,
one whose name was once familiar.
Salutations here today
8 to the house of that good one.
That wise noble girl
does greet me every night.
When my mind is asleep (and broken was [the sleep] I had),
12 it is a dream, scarcely does it utter a word,
with my head on the pillow,
it comes yonder before daybreak
in the form of a little angel (far-reaching spectre)
16 into the girl's bed.
I was under the impression then
that I was with my sweetheart there.
When I awoke her face
20 was far from me, the mind [still] seeks her.
Damn that black-face clock
in the side of the wall which woke me up.
May its head and its tongue be useless,
24 and its two ropes and its wheel,
and its weights, blunt lumps,
and its casings and its hammer,
and its ducks which think it's day,
28 and its restless machinery.
Nasty clock like the clack
of a drunken cobbler, a curse on its face,
sword of a mendacious tinker,
32 the gnashing sound of a dog striking a basin,
the frequent clap of a phantom mill
grinding by night in a monastery cloister.
Was there ever a crazier saddler
36 (scabby strap) or tiler?
May its cry meet an evil fate
for taking me from heaven here.
I was having (comfortable embrace)
40 a heavenly sleep at midnight
in the folds of her long arms,
amongst English nestled between two breasts.
Igraine of the land, nourishment of grief,
44 will such a vision ever be seen again?
Hurry along to her again,
dream, nothing will hinder your course.
Ask the girl beneath the golden canopy
48 whether sleep will come to her tonight
to give one more sight from the heart
of her, niece of the sun.