Dôn of the river-flow, Dôn of ancient blood
and ancient name, mother of children mighty
and wise who yet work their wonders in the world,
consort of Beli Mawr who sows the seed and reaps
the crop. Dôn whose name lies deep in the land,
older than old, you wear your silence like a crown;
we know you in the tales of others, we know you
in the shards of stone broken by a churning earth,
in the waters that rise from within. Gracious one,
giver of life, whose blessings are in sweet water
and salt, in the sun-warmed ground and the cold soil
beneath, I call to you, O goddess, with reverence.