When May is here, and every morn
Is dappled with pied bells,
And dewdrops glance along the thorn
And wings flash in the dells,
I take my pipe and play a tune
Of dreams, a whispered melody,
For feet that dance beneath the moon
In fairy jollity.
And when the pastoral hills are grey
And the dim stars are spread,
A scamper fills the grass like play
Of feet where fairies tread.
And many a little whispering thing
Is calling the Shee.
The dewy bells of evening ring,
And all is melody.
Francis Ledwidge's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Ceol Sidhe by Francis Ledwidge )
- The Transcendental At Worthington Lake, Harry Freeman
- Lonely Is Me, Lilly Emery
- Sometimes I Cry, Lilly Emery
- MEDUSA, Lilly Emery
- The Exile, Rishi Kaul
- Bitter Sweet, Lilly Emery
- Strip unfinnished, lee fones
- Will You Love Me When I'm Old, Lilly Emery
- You Won't Let Me, Heather Burns
- Love Is The Flame, Lilly Emery