On earth could he make real through his art.
Now, to his castle, Math, through Gwydion,—
The son of Don,—the daughter dark of Don,
The silver-circled Arianrod, had brought;
A southern rose of beauty, whom Math thought
To wed, in love and friendship, without blame,
And at Caer Dathyl. When the maiden came
Said Math, "Art thou a virgin?"—Like a flame
Mantling, her answer angered, "Verily,
I know not other, lord, than that I be!"—