The Spoils of Annuvin

Monks howl together, like a pack of dogs --
They shrink away from meeting the lords who know:
Is there one course of wind? One course of water?
Is there one spark of fire? Of fierce tumult?

Monks roll together, like the pups of wolves,
They shrink away from meeting the lords who know:
They do not know when night and dawn divide,
Nor wind, what is its course, nor what its onrush,
What place it ravages, nor where it strikes.
The grave and ground of the saint
Vanish into the other world.

--From a Welsh Manuscript of the 14th Century, attributed to the ancient bard Taliesin