let all the poets of heaven and earth Come to sing his praises at all hours

Very few of the pretty blossoms 

    Of the world are more sweet, 

More pure, or smell lovelier than 

    Friendship’s little floweret, 

Very few too, no-one can doubt, 

    Of the blossoms of this world 

Last so long in loveliness and fame 

    And excellence unfurled. 

 

Ah! this is a lovely rose, 

    A prince in beauty! 

Is there another in the garden     

    Fairer or more haughty? 

See the other flowers nearby 

    Are bowing to him; 

And everyone must admit 

    That his beauty does not dim. 

 

He’s a dear little tender flower, 

    His perfume quite enchanting; 

Yet his survival is quite strange, 

    In the midst of stormy ranting, 

Truly the powerful tempest only 

    Spreads his perfume anew 

Once he is well rooted, 

    And gives him a better hue. 

 

Is there anywhere his superior? 

    Yes, they say who time seeking have spent, 

One lovelier in colour and form, 

    And with a sweeter scent; 

And they say that this prince has ever 

    Been used to bow to him, 

And without cavil or question, 

    Acknowledge his dominion: 

 

And he, it’s said throughout the land, 

    Is the King to whom others bow, 

The other myriad flowers fair 

    Do nothing but follow; 

And Friendship, dear rose,

Is the eldest prince, they say, 

    Which proudly sits beside 

The crowned head every day. 

 

Well, let “Love” then be the head, 

    The perfect King of all the flowers, 

And let all the poets of heaven and earth 

    Come to sing his praises at all hours; 

But I shall sing this little song 

    With joy, whate’er may chance, 

To the gay prince of Friendship, 

    Which has me quite entranced. 

 

Ah! dear sister, you are to me, 

    Faithful, like the moon is to the sea; 

The purest passion of my heart 

    Will forever with you be: 

To see your dearest, happy face 

    To peace and bliss to me, 

And to rejoice in your company 

    Is sunshine in a shady place. 

 

To look upon your lovely face, 

    And to open to you a heart 

O’erburdened, gives me release 

    From my troubles’ cruellest dart; 

And to have your sincere sympathy 

    ‘Gainst every blow and care, 

Is worth more than all the wide world’s gold, 

    All its bliss and praises fair. 

 

I see no parallel anywhere 

    To the sweet star of your beauty, 

Though I’ve travelled far, - so many 

    Are in this earth’s sky: 

Thousands of other honoured stars, 

    Glitt’ring on he horizon; 

I admire them all but I love you, 

    My dearest Venus, my “Ogwen.” 

 

I don’t think any language can, 

    Though it be quite perfect, 

Express, explain, even in part, 

    How dear you are to my heart: 

But you know my heart entire, 

    My sister, no words are due; 

You have shown that you understand 

    How dearly I love you. 

 

My heart is all exposed to you, 

    And I know that you see in it 

The lovely image of yourself 

    Which is clearer minute by minute: 

Well, be assured that it will always be here, 

     Until life itself flows from me; 

And then the sweetest pleasure of all 

    Will be to look upon you everywhere. 

 

[Cranogwen {Sarah Jane Rees} {1839-1916} ‘My Friend’—a translation of ‘Fy Ffrynd’—from Welsh Women’s Poetry 1460-2001: An Anthology]