1 min read
Слушать(AI)The Shadow People
Old lame Bridget doesn't
Fairy music in the
When the gloaming's on the
And the shadow people pass:
Never hears their slow grey
Coming from the village
Just beyond the parson's wall,
Where the clover globes are
And the mushroom's
Opens in the moonlit rain.
Every night I hear them
From their long and merry train.
Old lame Bridget says to me,"It is just your fancy, child."She cannot believe I
Laughing faces in the wild,
Hands that twinkle in the
Bowing at the water's
Where the finny minnows quiver,
Shaping on a blue wave's
Bubble foam to sail the river.
And the sunny hands to
Beckon ever, beckon ever.
Oh!
I would be wild and free,
And with the shadow people be.
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
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
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
Spring Love
I saw her coming through the flowery grass, Round her swift ankles butterfly and Blent loud and silent wings ; I saw her
My Mother
God made my mother on an April day, From sorrow and the mist along the sea, Lost birds' and wanderers' songs and ocean spray, And the moon loved her wandering jealously
Spring and Autumn
Green ripples singing down the corn, With blossoms dumb the path I tread, And in the music of the morn One with wild roses on her head Now the green ripples turn to gold And all the paths are loud with rain, I with desire am growing old And f...
