Francis Ledwidge

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

Francis Ledwidge Poems

1. Thoughts At The Trysting Stile 5/11/2012
2. Aarstiderne 8/2/2012
3. The Call To Ireland 5/11/2012
4. With Flowers 4/16/2010
5. The Sylph 4/16/2010
6. Una Bawn 4/16/2010
7. Youth 4/16/2010
8. The Find 4/16/2010
9. The Rushes 4/16/2010
10. To One Who Comes Now And Then 4/16/2010
11. The Lanawn Shee 4/16/2010
12. To A Sparrow 4/16/2010
13. To An Old Quill Of Lord Dunsany's 4/16/2010
14. The Little Children 4/16/2010
15. June 3/27/2012
16. The Dead Kings 4/16/2010
17. Spring Love 4/16/2010
18. Two Songs 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. At A Poet's Grave 4/16/2010
28. Autumn 4/16/2010
29. Spring 4/16/2010
30. Lady Fair 4/16/2010
31. Ireland 4/16/2010
32. Pan 4/16/2010
33. In France 4/16/2010
34. A Fairy Hunt 4/16/2010
35. The Shadow People 1/3/2003
36. A Mother's Song 4/16/2010
37. Spring And Autumn 1/3/2003
38. The Lost Ones 1/3/2003
39. The Wife Of Llew 1/3/2003
40. Lament For Thomas Mcdonagh 1/3/2003
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 Lost Ones

Somewhere is music from the linnets' bills,
And thro' the sunny flowers the bee-wings drone,
And white bells of convolvulus on hills
Of quiet May make silent ringing, blown
Hither and thither by the wind of showers,
And somewhere all the wandering birds have flown;
And the brown breath of Autumn chills the flowers.

But where are all the loves of long ago?

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