The Holly Grove
The holly grove, embrace of a goodly load,
stronghold at the edge of the woodland, its fruit like coral,
shapely chancel which no man will uproot,
4 thick cosy enclosure which houses a couple,
a tower of leaves like spur points
for the protection of the slender gentle one.
I am a man roaming by a wooded slope
8 under trees, tender groves with fine hair.
May God's grace preserve the beautiful building!
I roamed the woods, meadows and leaves.
Who in winter ever saw
12 the month of May wearing green livery?
I saw today, well do I remember it,
a holly grove at the top of the hill,
with the same cluster of branches and livery as May,
16 so it seemed to me, it was so attractive;
a gift of branches with room for an organ,
a sturdy hall over a pure green pillar;
pantry of song above the grim snowy vale,
20 a penthouse, painted by God's hand.
Far better, lovely girl,
did He make a fine sort of table for noble Robert.
The noble-living Hywel Fychan
24 whose praise is so eloquent, he knows the best trees,
did praise (he's no churl)
the angel of the woods, my fine bed:
handsome thick antlers above paths' edges,
28 short-haired lad with green cloak;
room of the birds of the land of paradise,
round temple of lovely green leaves.
Not like an old hut soaked by rain.
32 Its shelter will be snug for two nights.
The holly leaves will not wither (surely not?),
with their tips like steel.
No goat or old buck as far as the river Severn
36 will take a chunk out of this,
iron muzzle, when the night is long
and ice on every glade and moor.
The fair tree will not lose its first crop
40 despite the cry of the harsh cold wind of spring,
close-knit camlet above the hillside treetops,
the green leaves are faithful.