All my life I have had great pleasure from reading aloud (or reciting from memory) the glorious lyric poetry of France. I hope that my pupils and friends have enjoyed them with me. Suddenly, seventy years later, I have found a new French lyric poet. He is new to me but much older than the poets of the nineteenth century, and also than the Renaissance poets Ronsard and Du Bellay whom I discovered when I was at Southampton University. This poet was born in 1394 and I feel an empathy with him which refreshes me. My favourite poem is one of the saddest that I've read. We in Wales have a word for exile or loss which is deeply moving for us. It is hiraeth.