Homage to Dafydd ap Gwilym Book

I happened upon this book in a used bookshop, having no idea who Dafydd ap Gwilym was. He immediately became one of my favorite medieval poets, in the same rank as Chaucer, the "Gawain" poet and the "Beowulf" poet. Where Dafydd - or I should say, Loomis's translation, as I am not equipped to assess the Welsh originals (sadly not included) - outdoes them is in the lyric. Take the following, from #17, "Elegy for Rhydderch":

A strange sermon was it to lay
Under this black turf
Knowledges, senses of love

I've kept these lines in my mind for years. They are a perfect expression of the almost inexpressable enormity of the loss accompanying death.

Or take the beautiful little line from #108, "The Heart":

It will be quiet in an unjealous way;
It will fill like a little egg.

A heart doesn't fill like a cup, with something poured into it; it fills quietly, like an egg, with something growing within it.

Finally, consider some lines from #131, "Yesterday", which also conclude Loomis's warm and entirely informing introduction:

After my wound (I am blind),
I'm tough like a withe from an apple tree
That bends easily (affliction's touch)
And will not break after a strong blow.
There is in me (faint memory of a smile)
The soul of a shivery old cat;
Let the wood-gray body be wounded, beaten,
Whatever be at it, it will live.

Dafydd's poetry is strikingly human, and Loomis's translations convey that humanity. This edition seems difficult to find, but it's definitely worth it if you have an interest in anything medieval, lyrical, Welsh, or just plain poetic.