|Pink thrift on St David's Head|
|Spring Squill and Buttercups|
All the sweetness of nature was buried in black winters grave,
and the wind sings a sad lament with its cold plaintive cry;
but oh, the teeming summer will come bringing life in its arms,
and will strew rosy flowers on the face of hill and dale.
In lovely harmony the wood has put on its green mantle,
and summer is on its throne, playing its string-music;
the willow, whose harp hung silent when it was withered in winter,
now gives forth its melody.
Hush! Listen! The world is alive!
|Looking northwards to Strumble Head|
|One of the Plant Rhys Ddwfn by Corbistiger|
He opened the door, and looked out to Cornwall and over Aber Henvelen. And when he looked, suddenly everything they had ever lost – loved ones and companions, and all the bad things that had ever happened to them; and most of all the loss of their king – became as clear as if it had been rushing in towards them.”