Francis Ledwidge

(19 August 1887 – 31 July 1917 / Janeville, Slane)

Francis Ledwidge Poems

1. Aarstiderne 8/2/2012
2. Thoughts At The Trysting Stile 5/11/2012
3. The Call To Ireland 5/11/2012
4. The Sylph 4/16/2010
5. The Lanawn Shee 4/16/2010
6. To One Who Comes Now And Then 4/16/2010
7. Una Bawn 4/16/2010
8. The Find 4/16/2010
9. The Rushes 4/16/2010
10. The Little Children 4/16/2010
11. Youth 4/16/2010
12. To A Sparrow 4/16/2010
13. To An Old Quill Of Lord Dunsany's 4/16/2010
14. Two Songs 4/16/2010
15. June 3/27/2012
16. The Dead Kings 4/16/2010
17. Spring Love 4/16/2010
18. With Flowers 4/16/2010
19. At Currabwee 4/16/2010
20. Ceol Sidhe 4/16/2010
21. In A Cafe 4/16/2010
22. Old Clo 4/16/2010
23. Ardan Mór 4/16/2010
24. Dawn 4/16/2010
25. Had I A Golden Pound (After The Irish) 4/16/2010
26. After Court Martial 4/16/2010
27. Autumn 4/16/2010
28. Spring 4/16/2010
29. Ireland 4/16/2010
30. At A Poet's Grave 4/16/2010
31. Lady Fair 4/16/2010
32. A Mother's Song 4/16/2010
33. A Fairy Hunt 4/16/2010
34. The Lost Ones 1/3/2003
35. The Wife Of Llew 1/3/2003
36. Spring And Autumn 1/3/2003
37. Pan 4/16/2010
38. In France 4/16/2010
39. The Shadow People 1/3/2003
40. A Soldier's Grave 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Francis Ledwidge

Soliloquy

When I was young I had a care
Lest I should cheat me of my share
Of that which makes it sweet to strive
For life, and dying still survive,
A name in sunshine written higher
Than lark or poet dare aspire.

But I grew weary doing well.
Besides, 'twas sweeter in that hell,
Down with the loud banditti people
Who robbed the orchards, climbed the steeple
For jackdaws' eyes and made the cock
Crow ere 'twas daylight on the clock.
I was so very bad the neighbours
Spoke of me at their daily labours.

And now I'm drinking wine in France,
The helpless ...

Read the full of Soliloquy

The Wife Of Llew

And Gwydion said to Math, when it was Spring:
"Come now and let us make a wife for Llew."
And so they broke broad boughs yet moist with dew,
And in a shadow made a magic ring:
They took the violet and the meadow-sweet
To form her pretty face, and for her feet
They built a mound of daisies on a wing,
And for her voice they made a linnet sing
In the wide poppy blowing for her mouth.

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