The Bone Prison by E. Howard Harries (1876-1961)
They say that in some Gower glen,
Below the bracken bushes deep,
All hidden from the eyes of men
Old Gwydion keeps his land of sleep.
Its pillars are the skulls of men
With eyeless socket, blue-veined bone,
And life is stagnant as a fen,
With music in a monotone.
There Gwydion's magic, like a vice,
Detains you in his house of bone.
There Feeling dies, and cold as ice
The heart grows to a pulseless stone.
The bard whose soul is void of fire
Is captive from the field above,
The blinded mouth, the tuneless choir,
The lover who has lost his love,
Are captive there, and raptures old,
That cynic age delights to scorn,
Are in the icy silence cold,
And hope is all forlorn.
But glad I am that secret keeps,
Where lies old Gwydion's house of bone,
And in my heart no echo creeps
Of music of its monotone.