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Dark-black branches sky and glen
If I do not tell a lie
From the flowers of Lleu this has come!
An oak grows upon a high plain
Rain neither wets it, nor drips upon it
Nine-score strikes has it endured
In its top, Lleu Skillful-Hand.
Grows an oak upon a steep
The sanctuary of fair lord
Unless I speak falsely:
Lleu will come down into my lap.