When the pomp of the world goes triumphing by,
When the sea with the sunlight gleams—
It's show you a lovelier thing could I,
'Twixt Tywi and Teifi streams.
Let be! whatever of praise be sung,
Here's one could never make straight the knee,
Nor stay the soul from its paeans flung
Where the winds might flaunt them free,
For a thousand o' mountains, cloud-fleece hung,
'Twixt Hafren Hen and the sea.)