Treasure Island

Francis Ledwidge

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

At Currabwee


Every night at Currabwee
Little men with leather hats
Mend the boots of Faery
From the tough wings of the bats.
So my mother told to me,
And she is wise you will agree. .

Louder than a cricket's wing
All night long their hammer's glee
Times the merry songs they sing
Of Ireland glorious and free.
So I heard Joseph Plunkett say,
You know he heard them but last May.


And when the night is very cold
They warm their hands against the light
Of stars that make the waters gold
Where they are labouring all the night.
So Pearse said, and he knew the truth,
Among the stars he spent his youth.

And I, myself, have often heard
Their singing as the stars went by,
For am I not of those who reared
The banner of old Ireland high,
From Dublin town to Turkey's shores,
And where the Vardar loudly roars?

Submitted: Friday, April 16, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Related Poems


Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (At Currabwee by Francis Ledwidge )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Georgetown U.S.A., Radclyffe Hall
  2. Interior Sensations, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  3. கொல்லும் போர்க்களம்!, Dr.V.K. Kanniappan
  4. No Use Sighin', Edgar Albert Guest
  5. The Way It Sometimes Is, Henry Splawn Taylor
  6. The Furnace Door, Edgar Albert Guest
  7. When Mother Made An Angel Cake, Edgar Albert Guest
  8. Sunday In Liguria, Radclyffe Hall
  9. Money, Edgar Albert Guest
  10. Ironic Love, RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]