Pen y Daith

Aeth blodau dyddiau dedwyddion - drosodd
    D'ryswyd fy nghysuron;
  Mae pob lle o'm pabell hon
  Ar waeth, o lawer, weithion . . .

O bu'n wan faban unwaith, - y gwychaf,
    Wrth gychwyn i ymdaith,
  E dry'r dyn, draw ar y daith,
  I boen wael maban eilwaith.

Ymredodd fy moredeg - amseroedd
    Mesurwyd eu hadeg;
  Yn iach gan fyth ychwaneg,
  Neu gyraedd dawn, na grudd deg.

Gorddwys yw'r hen pan gerddo, - a'i weinion
    Ewynau'n diffygio;
  Gormod y bennod tra bo
  Lle rhedodd, allu rhodio.

Er mwynhau rhadau rheidiol, - a meddu 
    Pob moddion tymhorol; 
  Ni werthir yn ei wrthol 
  Ddoe i neb, - ni ddaw yn ol.

Myned sy raid i minau, - drwy wendid
    I'r undaith â'm tadau;
  Mae 'mlinion, hwyrion oriau
  A'm hos hir yn ymnesáu.

Henffych wlad i rad rodio, - a mwynaf
    Man i gael gorphwyso;
  Blinder, gorthrymder, na thro
  Ni bydd un na bedd yno.

               - - - - -

Aeth blodau dyddiau dedwyddion - heibio
    A'u hoywber gysuron;
  Chwith i mi'r awr hwyrfawr hon,
  Hen wr cul hanner calon.

The flowers of happy days have gone - over
    My comforts were confused;
  Every place from this my tent is
  Worse, much, henceforth . . .

O he was a weak baby once, - the most brilliant,
    On setting out to journey,
  He will turn the man, yonder on the jouney,
  To the pain of a poor baby again.

My fair morning ran - times
    Their occasion was measured;
  Healthy by never adding,
  Or reaching a gift, nor a fair cheek.

Laborious is the old when he walks, - and his weak
    Sinews failing;
  Too much the chapter while he is,
  Where he ran, able to walk.

Despite enjoying necessary graces, - and possessing
    Every timely means;
  It is not to be valued backwards
  Yesterday to no-one, - will come back.

To go is necessary or me too, - through weakness
    On the same journey with my fathers;
  My griefs are, in evening hours
  And my long night approaching.

Farewell land freely to walk, - and the gentlest
    Place to get to rest;
  Neither of grief, oppression, nor turning
  Shall there be any, nor grave there.

                    - - - - -

The flowers of happy days have gone - past
    With their gaily sweet comforts;
  Awkward to me this greatly late hour,
  And old narrow man of half a heart.