| Elegy for Madog Benfras | |
| All this world is nothing but | |
| a fragile delusive sieve. | |
| The joyful young man tonight, | |
| 4 | carefree as he may be, |
| a nightmare, swift cruel grief, | |
| he will drop dead tomorrow. | |
| Why does brilliant poetic inspiration disturb me, | |
| 8 | sweet form, bright firm path, |
| a twin's bardic cry, because of Madog Benfras? | |
| There was never a better minstrel. | |
| He was brave and generous, oppression of verse, | |
| 12 | there will never be another man like Madog |
| for mastery of a multitude of metres, | |
| for good song, and it was manifest, | |
| for thoroughly learned love–poetry, | |
| 16 | for abundant entertainment and followers, |
| for love above all others, | |
| the reputation of his wisdom was prodigious. | |
| Dour is my cry this year | |
| 20 | that Madog has been taken, he was faultless, |
| the trees are in mourning for men's teacher. | |
| No living pupil can bring forth [a poem]. | |
| Clear song, sovereign of sense, | |
| 24 | eloquent peacock, was he not guileless? |
| Battle's gimlet, tender heart, | |
| plane of reason and song; | |
| haven's brace and cruck, scenes of wine flowing, | |
| 28 | his song as sweet as that of Myrddin, |
| and May's choice candle | |
| and the trumpet and horn of poetry, | |
| and chancel of passion and love | |
| 32 | and colourer of song, and the host [is now] divided. |
| Sweet–sounding organ, jewel of the refined ones, | |
| chieftain of poets' poetry. | |
| Gold will be scarce, he merited payment, | |
| 36 | the small leaves of May will be without succour; |
| Joyless poets will have no place of welcome, | |
| the world will have no cywydd; | |
| the sweet little nightingale will be songless, | |
| 40 | Eigr will have no one to praise her [because of] the spread of disease; |
| birch trees will be without honour, none will preserve them, | |
| the ash grove once so fine will be without hope. | |
| Bright support, chapel of poetic inspiration, | |
| 44 | compared to him everyone is copper; [every] girl is empty–handed. |
| If the world were thus — he has gone — | |
| all the lands would be vulgar because he lived not. | |
| Woe to the band of poets! His poetic voice was fine. | |
| 48 | He has been left in the company of God. |