The Sigh

	A harsh and coarse sigh

	causes me not to be contained in my tunic.

	A sigh, cold exhaled part,

4	broke in four pieces

	the breast that holds it, the height of pain:

	it nearly splits me with its fierce aching.

	From a nestful of memories, a precious breast,

8	(a kind of sigh of foolish madness)

	some note rises from me

	constricted, pain of the narrow edge of memory.

	A breast's commotion, a den of deceit,

12	a skilful extinguisher of a candle,

	a shower from a cywydd's whirlwind,

	it will be a mist-hedge of long contemplation.

	Everyone supposes, when I get angry,

16	if there were training [that I'd had], that I am a piper.

	There is more breath in me

	than in the hollow of a blacksmith's bellows.

	A sigh, sharpened work,

20	from the front will break a stone from [any] wall.

	A girl causes it, an angry word,

	it's a cruel roar along the length of a man.

	Rain's breeze to wither the cheek,

24	it is the autumn wind of sadness.

	There was never any wheat that could not be winnowed

	by this when it was wild with anger.

	My position has been very sad for a year,

28	except for Morfudd, no girl will console me.