Francis Ledwidge

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

Francis Ledwidge Poems

41. My Mother 1/3/2003
42. Lament For Thomas Mcdonagh 1/3/2003
43. A Little Boy In The Morning 1/3/2003
44. A Rainy Day In April 1/3/2003
45. To One Dead 1/3/2003
46. A Soldier's Grave 4/16/2010
47. Fairies 4/16/2010
48. The Call To Ireland 5/11/2012
49. Soliloquy 1/3/2003

Comments about Francis Ledwidge

  • Thomas (5/3/2018 7:54:00 AM)

    Last week, I visited his monument in Belgium. It gave me goosebumps. Than I went home and had with my wife while she was drinking Nesquick chocolate milk. But after all he ain't too bad. Some poems are pretty and others are gruell. Next week I go to London, to go to the hookers. because my wife doens't give good succ.

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  • Amy Elliott (2/4/2018 6:39:00 AM)

    Good poet
    I'm currently learning about him

  • Dave Keech (12/15/2017 7:16:00 AM)

    Brilliant poet and true Irish patriot.

    R.I.P Francis

  • Alan Matthews (8/17/2017 11:26:00 AM)

    Francis Ledwidge's submissions to the Drogheda Independent were, at the time, also being printed submission by submission in staves with the intention of publishing a book when the series ended. The series ended abruptly and the staves were put in to storage and ended up being dumped in 1976. One of the staves was saved and the book has finally been published in 2017 entitled Legends and Stories of the Boyne Side by Francis E. Ledwidge. available at www.ledwidgelostlegends.ie. more information is also available on facebook at thelostledwidge

  • Charles Zult (3/1/2016 12:18:00 AM)

    Nice

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 Shadow People

Old lame Bridget doesn't hear
Fairy music in the grass
When the gloaming's on the mere
And the shadow people pass:
Never hears their slow grey feet
Coming from the village street
Just beyond the parson's wall,
Where the clover globes are sweet
And the mushroom's parasol

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