Welsh poet Dylan Thomas was an absolute magician with words and one of my favourites of his glorious poems is Fern Hill, written in 1945. It’s an evocative and poignant portrayal of his childhood memories and his awareness of the fleeting nature of time. Nobody reads Thomas so superbly as Richard Burton, with that wonderful voice so full of Welsh music and whisky and a passion for words.
Give yourself a treat and listen to this fabulous recording:
Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
With vivid imagery and rich language, the poet captures the very essence of his youth, taking us back into his idyllic past. It’s a wonderfully sensory poem – we feel the lushness of nature, the greenness of the grass, the “lilt’ of the house. With Thomas, we too are “prince of the apple towns”.
The actual house Fernhill (shown above and spelt as one word, unlike the poem’s title) is a Grade II listed residence outside Llangain, Carmarthenshire. When he knew it, it had 15 acres of farmland and an orchard. It was home to his aunt Annie and her husband Jim Jones who was a poor farmer and neglected the place. Dylan Thomas loved his childhood holidays there. For him these visits were a time of joy and innocence, an Edenic paradise. He laments that time has lost him that joy and he personifies time to show he is now imprisoned in adulthood and such freedom has gone forever. The colours green and gold (grass and sunshine) are heavily used to represent the time of delight in the world of nature. The poet’s conversational tone invites the reader to share his joy and also his sorrow at the memories.
I’m very excited that this poetic farmhouse is included on my 2026 Welsh Tour and that I will get to walk, with my tour group through the landscape that so inspired one of my favourite poets.
The poem was set to music in the 1960s by American composer John Corigliano, and has been used in films.
Did this poem evoke any memories of place for you? Let me know by leaving a comment.
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Sheila Matthew
I was born and raised in Pembrokeshire and of course Dylan’s poems mean so much to us Celts.
I have lived in Australia 62 years because an Adelaide Australian courted and married with me in Wales .
My dear Late husband proposed marriage to me at the Back of Dylan’s work hut whilst we were sitting on the beach.
Caitlin his Irish wife was often seen about riding a very ancient bycle <shocking many women after she has given birth the day before . Causing a great deal oh hushed talk by local women.
America ruined Dylan with too much kindness. Too much alcohol and so sad that he died so young: I think Caitlin is still alive and lives in Italy.
I am unable to be on Sussanh’s fantastic trip but but I know all the places and everyone will have an excellent time
and, will be sure of a welcome wherever you go as Welsh people love “ visitors” never called Tourists in The “ land of my fathers”
Susannah Fullerton
Sheila, thanks so much for sharing those wonderful memories. Yes, I know we will get a warm Welsh welcome when we go to Wales next year. I have jsut been reading ‘How Green was My Valley’ and loved it. You can hear the Welsh love of song in the language, and of course it is there in Dylan’s amazing poems too.
Susannah Fullerton
Dylan Thomas said that it wasn’t the meaning of his poems that mattered, but the sound of them. And who better to read it than the divine Richard Burton, his voice full of Welsh song and whisky?
Janet
How lucky we are to have you and your love of poetry as you share with us this gorgeous reading by Richard Burton.
Thank you sp much.
Gwyn Burns
Being thoroughly Welsh I am a Dylan Thomas devotee.
When at University in London. I had another like minded Welsh school-friend I regularly met, who persuaded me to buy his books which I still have and read. We would sometimes quote him.
We went to see “Under Milkwood” together and just loved it, I have never seen a production that equalled it.
His wonderful language was exquisitely so Welsh in expression.
I still correspond with my friend, another Gwyneth.
David Castle
Thank you for the poem. It brings back strong memories of under milkwood and the sheer joy of sound for sounds sake. As you said, brilliantly read by the great Richard Burton.