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She paved the way with perfume
Of flowers that moved like winds alight,
And never weary grew my
Wandering through[the spring's delight.
She dropped her sweet fife to her
And lured me with her melodies,
To where the great big wandering
Put out into the peaceful seas.
But when the year grew chill and brown,
And all the wings of Summer flown,
Within the tumult of a
She left me to grow old alone.
This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge,
Published by Herbert Jenkins,
London 1918 page 22-23checked and verified
Sprobable date of writing 1916
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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Spring
Once more the lark with song and Cleaves through the dawn, his hurried bars^; Fall, like the flute of Twirling and whistling from the stars
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
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
In France
The silence of maternal Is round me in my evening dreams ; And round me music-making And mingling waves of pastoral streams
