Francis Ledwidge Poems
|41.||Lament For Thomas Mcdonagh||1/3/2003|
|42.||A Soldier's Grave||4/16/2010|
|43.||Lament For The Poets: 1916||1/3/2003|
|45.||A Rainy Day In April||1/3/2003|
|46.||A Little Boy In The Morning||1/3/2003|
|47.||Behind The Closed Eye||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 ...
To One Dead
A blackbird singing
On a moss-upholstered stone,
Shadows wildly blown,
A song in the wood,
A ship on the sea.
The song was for you
and the ship was for me.