Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
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By Clyde's meandering stream,
When Sol in joy is seen to leave
The earth with crimson beam;
When islands that wandered far
Above his sea couch lie,
And here and there some gem-like star
Re-opes its sparkling eye.
HEX: #849A8C
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RGB: 132 154 140
HEX: #F29890
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RGB: 242 152 144
HEX: #E1BF79
RGB: 225 191 121
RGB: 225 191 121
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RGB: 152 213 184
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RGB: 239 246 234
He spoke to him in the old language;
He was to have a peculiar care
For the Welsh people. History showed us
He was too big to be nailed to the wall
Of a stone chapel, yet still we crammed him
Between the boards of a black book.
