Ah, it was midnight's bluebell lawn
Most in her heart held sway.
O'er Bettws Mountain she came down slowly,
Drowsy winged through the tangled wern;
Where in the sky was there hill so holy,
With so much glamor to burn,
As the hyacinth wilds beyond Wernoleu,
With their white bells 'mid the fern?
Musing, round by the wern she wandered
From bell to bell with her wings acroon,