<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=509918" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Welsh History</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">We were a people taut for war; the hills<br>Were no harder, the thin grass<br>Clothed them more warmly than the coarse<br>Shirts our small bones.<br>We fought, and were always in retreat,<br>Like snow thawing upon the slopes<br>Of Mynydd Mawr; and yet the stranger<br>Never found our ultimate stand<br>In the thick woods, declaiming verse<br>To the sharp prompting of the harp. <br>Our kings died, or they were slain<br>By the old treachery at the ford.<br>Our bards perished, driven from the halls<br>Of nobles by the thorn and bramble. <br>We were a people bred on legends,<br>Warming our hands at the red past.<br>The great were ashamed of our loose rags<br>Clinging stubbornly to the proud tree<br>Of blood and birth, our lean bellies<br>And mud houses were a proof<br>Of our ineptitude for life. <br>We were a people wasting ourselves<br>In fruitless battles for our masters,<br>In lands to which we had no claim,<br>With men for whom we felt no hatred. <br>We were a people, and are so yet.<br>When we have finished quarrelling for crumbs<br>Under the table, or gnawing the bones<br>Of a dead culture, we will arise<br>And greet each other in a new dawn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ronald+Stuart+Thomas">Ronald Stuart Thomas</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=509918" data-title="Welsh History de Ronald Stuart Thomas" data-description="We were a people taut for war; the hills Were no harder, the thin grass Clothed them more warmly than the coarse Shirts our small bones. We fought, and were always in retreat, Like snow thawing upon the slopes Of Mynydd Mawr; and yet the stranger ..."></div> </div> </div>

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