Ireland

I called you by sweet names by wood and linn,

You answered not because my voice was new,

And you were listening for the hounds of

And the long hosts of Lugh.

And so,

I came unto a windy

And cried my sorrow, but you heard no wind,

For you were listening to small ships in flight,

And the wail on hills behind.

And then I left you, wandering the

Armed with will, from distant goal to goal,

To find you at the last free as of yore,

Or die to save your soul.

And then you called to us from far and

To bring your crown from out the deeps of time,

It is my grief your voice I couldn't

In such a distant clime.

This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge,

Published by Herbert Jenkins,

London 1918 page 28-29checked and verified

Probable date of writing

ES wood and linn -- hounds of Finn -- hosts of Lugh --