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: #453B37
RGB: 69 59 55
RGB: 69 59 55
HEX: #787474
RGB: 120 116 116
RGB: 120 116 116
HEX: #70611F
RGB: 112 97 31
RGB: 112 97 31
HEX: #9E8B36
RGB: 158 139 54
RGB: 158 139 54
HEX: #D9D9D9
RGB: 217 217 217
RGB: 217 217 217
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.
