In golden silks and brocades I appear,
on a horse so white he gleams in the night,
the horse that pulls the high sun in its course,
is mine, in this fertile land, shedding light.
Pwyll sent his horsemen in pursuit of me.
For two days and nights we ran, while they tired,
my stallion never lengthened his stride.
Pwyll the Prince of Dyfed, a man admired,
came out to hunt me, through the wild lands,
I fled him, ahead of his pleading words.
I delighted in the thrill of the chase
and stopped for the solemn promise I heard.
I had come to this place to possess him
but I am never so easily won.
I rebuked him for the harm to his horse.
To wed the Prince of Dyfed I had come.
My name is Rhiannon, of the horse, the land
and the moon. Queen of the Horses, riding,
mother of the lost one, later returned.
Three mystical birds fly with me, hiding.
I come from that Otherworld, fairer far,
my fathers domain, the deepness of seas,
Find me in the wind that runs in the grass.
I shimmer on waters surface in breeze.
When you stand on the high, ancient, hills
where the wind whips and tugs at your hair,
when you see the breath of a horse on cold air,
beneath and between, I am there.
The Dreaming Path 