From: Praise of Summer / Mawl i'r Haf

And it is an eternal grief
by night or day, how nearly August comes,
and to know that you, golden abundance,
from the prolongued defection, would depart.
'Tell me summer - this is wrong -
and I would like to ask of you
to what region or what kingdom
or what country, by wise Peter, do you go?'

A drwg yw yn dragywydd
nesed Awst, ai nos ai dydd,
a gwybod o'r method maith,
euraid deml, yr aut ymaith.
'Manag ym, haf, mae'n gam hyn,
myfy a fedr d'ymofyn,
pa gyfair neu pa gyfoeth,
pa dir ydd ei, myn Pedr, ddoeth

[Dafydd ap Gwilym , (may have been born about 1320) ]
A friend once gave me the volume of selected poems

I always like, by comparison, to find at least some words that by their repetition or similarities become clear.