The tops of the beech tree have sprouted of late,
are changed and renewed from their withered state.

When the beech prospers, though spells and litanies
the oak tops entangle, there is hope for trees.

I have plundered the fern, through all secrets I spy,
Old Math ap Mathonwy knew no more than I.

For with nine sorts of faculty God has gifted me,
I am fruit of fruits gathered from nine sorts of tree -

Plum, quince, whortle, mulberry, respberry, pear,
black cherry and white, with the sorb in me share.

From my seat at Fefynedd, a city that is strong,
I watched the trees and green things hastening along.

Retreating from happiness they would fein be set
in forms of the chief letters of the alphabet.

Wayfarers wandered, warriors were dismayed
at renewal of conflicts such as Gwydion made;

Under the tongue root a fight most dread,
and another raging, behind, in the head.

The alders in the front line began the affray.
Willow and rowan-tree were tardy in array.

The holly, dark green, made a resolute stand;
he is armed with many spear-points wounding the hand.

With foot-beat of the swift oak heaven and earth rung;
"Stout Guardian of the Door", his name in every tongue.

Great was the gorse in battle, and the ivy at his prime;
the hazel was arbiter and this charmed time.

Uncouth and savage was the fir, cruel the ash tree -
turns not aside a foot-breadth, straight at the heart runs he.

The birch, though very noble, armed himself but late:
a sign not of cowardice but of high estate.

The heath gave consolation to the toil-spent folk,
the long-enduring poplars in battle much broke.

Some of them were cast away on the field of fight
because of holes torn in them by the enemy's might.

Very wrathful was the vine whose henchmen are the elms;
I exalt him mightily to rulers of realms.

Strong chieftains were the blackthorn with his ill fruit,
the unbeloved whitethorn who wears the same suit.

The swift-pursuing reed, the broom with his brood,
and the furse but ill-behaved until he is subdued.

The dower-scattering yew stood glum at the fight's fringe,
with the elder slow to burn amid fires that singe.

And the blessed wild apple laughing in pride
from the Gorchan of Maeldrew, by the rock side.

In shelter linger privet and woodbine,
inexperienced in warefare, and the courtly pine.

But I, although slighted because I was not big,
Fought, trees, in your array on the field of Goddeu Brig.

The day that is no day calls for a tree
That is no tree, of low yet lofty growth.
When the pale Queen of Autumn casts her leaves
My leaves are freshly tufted on her boughs.
When the wild apple drops her goodly fruit
My all-heal fruit hangs ripening on her boughs.
Look, the twin temple-posts of green and gold,
The overshadowing lintel stone of white.
For here with white and green and gold I shine -
Graft me upon the King when his sap rises
That I may bloom with him at the year's prime,
That I may blind him in his hour of joy.

Not of father nor of mother
Was my blood, was my body.

I was spellbound by Gwydion,
Prime enchanter of the Britons,
When he formed me from nine blossoms,
Nine buds of various kind;
From primrose of the mountain,
Broom, meadow-sweet and cockle,
Together intertwined,
From the bean in its shade bearing
A white spectral army
Of earth, of earthly kind,
From blossoms of the nettle,
Oak, thorn and bashful chestnut -
Nine powers of nine flowers,
Nine powers in me combined,
Nine buds of plant and tree.

Long and white are my fingers
As the ninth wave of the sea.

Tree powers, finger tips,
First pentad of the four,
Discover all your poet asks
Drumming on his brow.

Birch peg, throbbing thumb,
By power of divination,
Birch, bring him news of love;
Loud the heart knocks.

Rowan rod, forefinger,
By power of divination,
Unriddle him a riddle;
The key's cast away.

Ash, middle finger,
By power of divination,
Weatherwise, fool otherwise;
Meet him out the winds.

Alder, psychic finger,
By power of divination,
Diagnose all maladies;
Of a doubtful mind.

Willow wand, ear finger,
By power of divination,
Force confessions from the mouth;
Of a mouldering corpse.

Finger-ends, five twigs,
Trees, true-divining trees,
Discover all your poet asks;
Drumming on his brow.