Francis Ledwidge Poems
|41.||To One Dead||1/3/2003|
|42.||A Soldier's Grave||4/16/2010|
|43.||Lament For The Poets: 1916||1/3/2003|
|44.||A Rainy Day In April||1/3/2003|
|45.||Behind The Closed Eye||1/3/2003|
|46.||A Little Boy In The Morning||1/3/2003|
Comments about Francis Ledwidge
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 ...
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?