And the cuckoo-pint by the tiny rills
That rise in Tybie's Well.
(And where's the wonder, if all were known?
There's many in Michael's hosts that ride
Would lay down scepter and crown and throne,
And their aureoled pomp and pride,
So they might wander and muse alone
An hour by the Teifi side.
And if anything lovely is under the sky,
That the eye beholds, or the proud heart dreams,