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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373514" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Hold Hard, These Ancient Minutes In the Cuckoo's Month</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373514" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo's month,<br>Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan's hill,<br>As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time;<br>Time, in a folly's rider, like a county man<br>Over the vault of ridings with his hound at heel,<br>Drives forth my men, my children, from the hanging south.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373514" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Country, your sport is summer, and December's pools<br>By crane and water-tower by the seedy trees<br>Lie this fifth month unstaked, and the birds have flown;<br>Holy hard, my country children in the world if tales,<br>The greenwood dying as the deer fall in their tracks,<br>The first and steepled season, to the summer's game.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373514" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And now the horns of England, in the sound of shape,<br>Summon your snowy horsemen, and the four-stringed hill,<br>Over the sea-gut loudening, sets a rock alive;<br>Hurdles and guns and railings, as the boulders heave,<br>Crack like a spring in vice, bone breaking April,<br>Spill the lank folly's hunter and the hard-held hope.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373514" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Down fall four padding weathers on the scarlet lands,<br>Stalking my children's faces with a tail of blood,<br>Time, in a rider rising, from the harnessed valley;<br>Hold hard, my country darlings, for a hawk descends,<br>Golden Glamorgan straightens, to the falling birds.<br>Your sport is summer as the spring runs angrily.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Dylan+Thomas">Dylan Thomas</a></strong></div>

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