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Слушать(AI)In A Cafe
Kiss the maid and pass her round,
Lips like hers were made for many.
Our loves are far from us to-night,
But these red lips are sweet as any.
Let no empty glass be
Aloof from our good table's sparkle,
At the acme of our
Here are francs to keep the circle.
They are far who miss us most—Sip and kiss —how well we love them,
Battling through the world to
Their hearts at peace, their God above them.
This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge,
Published by Herbert Jenkins,
London 1918 [page 56-57]Poem Dated: February 11th, 1917.
Words and spelling verified JS
Francis Ledwidge
Francis Edward Ledwidge (19 August 1887 – 31 July 1917) was an Irish war poet and soldier from County Meath.[1] Sometimes known as the "poet of
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To A Sparrow
Because you have no fear to Wings with those of greater part, So like me, with song I Your sweet impudence of heart
To One Who Comes Now And Then
When you come in, it seems a brighter Crackles upon the hearth invitingly, The household routine which was wont to tire , Grows full of novelty
Fairies
Maiden-poet, come with To the heaped up cairn of Maeve, And there we'll dance a fairy Upon a fairy's grave
In France
HE silence of maternal hills Is round me in my evening dreams; And round me music-making rills And mingling waves of pastoral streams Whatever way I turn I find The path is old unto me still The hills of home are in my mind,
