Penmaenmawr (excerpt)

I knew a flower whose leaves were meant to bloom Till Death should snatch it to adorn the tomb, Now, blanching 'neath the blight of hopeless grief With never blooming and yet living leaf; A flower on which my mind would wish to shine, If but one beam could break from mind like mine: I had an ear which could on accents dwell That might as well say 'perish' as 'farewell' - An eye which saw, far off, a tender form Beaten, unsheltered, by affliction's storm - An arm - a lip - that trembled to embrace My Angel's gentle breast and sorrowing face A mind that clung to Ouse's fertile side While tossing - objectless - on Menai's tide!