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. The Lanawn Shee 4/16/2010
6. Una Bawn 4/16/2010
7. To One Who Comes Now And Then 4/16/2010
8. The Find 4/16/2010
9. The Rushes 4/16/2010
10. With Flowers 4/16/2010
11. June 3/27/2012
12. To A Sparrow 4/16/2010
13. Youth 4/16/2010
14. The Little Children 4/16/2010
15. The Dead Kings 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. The Shadow People 1/3/2003
40. A Soldier's Grave 4/16/2010
Best Poem of Francis Ledwidge

Fairies

Maiden-poet, come with me
To the heaped up cairn of Maeve,
And there we'll dance a fairy dance
Upon a fairy's grave.

In and out among the trees,
Filling all the night with sound,
The morning, strung upon her star,
Shall chase us round and round.


What are we but fairies too,
Living but in dreams alone,
Or, at the most, but children still,
Innocent and overgrown ?

Read the full of Fairies

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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