To Morfydd.
LIONEL JOHNSON
A voice on the winds,
A voice on the waters,
Wanders and cries:
O what are the winds?
And what are the waters?
Mine are your eyes.
Western the winds are,
And western the waters,
Where the light lies:
O what are the winds?
And what are the waters?
Mine are your eyes.
Cold, cold grow the winds,
And dark grow the waters,
Where the sun dies:
O what are the winds?
And what are the waters?
Mine are your eyes.
And down the night winds,
And down the night waters
The music flies:
O what are the winds?
And what are the waters?
Cold be the winds,
And wild be the waters,
So mine be your eyes.