Thou noble tree; who shelt'rest kind

Thou noble tree; who shelt'rest kind The dead man's house from winter's wind: May lightnings never lay thee low, Nor archer cut from thee his bow; Nor Crispin peel thee pegs to frame, But may thou ever bloom the same, A noble tree the grave to guard Of Cambria's most illustrious bard! O tree of yew, which here I spy, By Ystrad Flur's blest monast'ry, Beneath thee lies, by cold Death bound, The tongue for sweetness once renown'd.