Pan
He knows the safe ways and
And he will lead the lambs to fold,
Gathering them with his merry pipe,
The gentle and the overbold.
He counts them over one by one,
And leads them back by cliff and steep,
To grassy hills where dawn is wide,
And they may run and skip and leap.
And just because he loves the
He settles them for rest at noon,
And plays them on his oaten
The very wonder of a tune.
This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge,
Published by Herbert Jenkins,
London 1918 [page 60-61]Poem Dated: France,
March 11th, 1917.
Words and spelling verified
Pan == the companion of the nymphs, god of shepherds and flocks, of mountains, hunting and rustic music.
Usually depicted playing pipes.
Francis Ledwidge
Other author posts
To An Old Quill Of Lord Dunsanys
Before you leave my hands' To lie where many odd things meet you, Neglected darkling of the Muses, I, the last of singers, greet you
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
The Lost Ones
Somewhere is music from the linnets' bills, And thro' the sunny flowers the bee-wings drone, And white bells of convolvulus on hills Of quiet May make silent ringing, blown Hither and thither by the wind of showers, And somewhere al...
Una Bawn
Una Bawn, the days are long, And the seas I cross are wide, I must go when Ireland needs, And you must bide