Lay your head upon these feathered clouds, and rest,

Spread your silken tresses on this virgin wilderness,

Then I will beg sweet dreams to come, and be your company.

When darkness drifts across your eyes to steal their perfect light,

I'll summon lesser Angels, who will guide you through the night,

And sing to you their silver hymns, in purest harmony.

Let your sweet form, in rest adorn, this bed of perfumed flowers,

Where I shall sit, and hold your hand, throughout the long dark hours,

Knowing you will never wake, again, to smile on me.

Farewell, my love, my own sweet child, go now to thy sleep,

And I shall pray, both night and day, the Lord your soul to keep.

You may be sure, forever more, of my true constancy.

                                                       _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn