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