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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=366034" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When The Welsh Of Wales Go Home</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There’s a distant drift of tides<br>That pitch at your troubled stare<br>And songs of a deep Welsh valley<br>Howl out from your wild, grey hair; <br>Then you sit, bright-eyed at the moonlight, <br>And you cry, bright-eyed at dawn, <br>There is no rest for the weary<br>When the Welsh of Wales go home.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You ride that distant country<br>While your eyes are mad with grief, <br>And you search for the things you lost there<br>Or you search for a long dead thief; <br>I speak, but get no answer<br>I question, cajole, implore, <br>You nod with an ancient wisdom, <br>And wake at a cottage door.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You knock, but find it empty<br>The thatch lies thick on the floor, <br>The shutters are hanging open<br>The latch, long torn from the door, <br>The sounds of distant children<br>You sense in the wind and weeds; <br>All gone, as if in an instant, <br>All scattered, like burdock seeds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All gone, the lives you left there<br>Were storms that passed in the trees, <br>A light on the far horizon<br>Is all you have left of these, <br>For soon, you’ll go to my father, <br>Where he went, so bitter, so far, <br>And the Wales of the Welsh will claim you<br>At the last ‘Nos da.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2 May 1994</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=366034" data-title="When The Welsh Of Wales Go Home de David Lewis Paget" data-description="There’s a distant drift of tides
That pitch at your troubled stare
And songs of a deep Welsh valley
Howl out from your wild, grey hair; 
Then you sit, bright-eyed at the moonlight, 
And you cry, bright-eyed at dawn, 
There is no rest for the wea..."></div>
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