Can I forget the sweet days that have been,
  When poetry first began to warm my blood;
When from the hills of Gwent I saw the earth
  Burned into two by Severn's silver flood:

When I would go alone at night to see
  The moonlight, like a big white butterfly,
Dreaming on that old castle near Caerleon,
  While at its side the Usk went softly by:

When I would stare at lovely clouds in Heaven,
  Or watch them when reported by deep streams;
When feeling pressed like thunder, but would not
  Break into that grand music of my dreams?

Can I forget the sweet days that have been,
  The villages so green I have been in;
Llantarnam, Magor, Malpas, and Llanwern,
  Liswery, old Caerleon, and Alteryn?

Can I forget the banks of Malpas Brook,
  Or Ebbw's voice in such a wild delight,
As on he dashed with pebbles in his throat,
  Gurgling towards the sea with all his might?

Ah, when I see a leafy village now,
  I sigh and ask it for Llantarnam's green;
I ask each river where is Ebbw's voice -
  In memory of the sweet days that have been.