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Updated: May 25, 2025
Lord of the Lleod, Whose home is the air, Winters a thousand Abideth the bird. Hapless and heavy then Waxeth the hazy wing; Year-worn and old in the Whirl of the earth. Then the high holt-top, Mounting, the bird soars; There, where the winds sleep, He buildeth a nest; Gums the most precious, and Balms of the sweetest, Spices and odours, he Weaves in the nest.
Lord of the Lleod, Whose home is the air, Winters a thousand Abideth the bird. Hapless and heavy then Waxeth the hazy wing; Year-worn and old in the Whirl of the earth. Then the high holt-top, Mounting, the bird soars; There, where the winds sleep, He buildeth a nest; Gums the most precious, and Balms of the sweetest, Spices and odours, he Weaves in the nest.
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