Francis Ledwidge

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 the blackbirds", he was killed in acБольше
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#the find1 мин. чтения

The Find

I took a reed and blew a tune,
And sweet it was and very
To be about a little
That only few hold dear

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#had1 мин. чтения

Had I A Golden Pound After The Irish

Had I a golden pound to spend,
My love should mend and sew no more
And I would buy her a little quern,
Easy to turn on the kitchen floor

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#ardan mór1 мин. чтения

Ardan Mór

AS I was climbing Ardan Mór From the shore of Sheelin lake, I met the herons coming down Before the water’s wake
And they were talking in their flight Of dreamy ways the herons go When all the hills are withered up Nor any waters flow
...

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#cafe1 мин. чтения

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

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#mother2 мин. чтения

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

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#two songs1 мин. чтения

Two Songs

I will come no more awhile,
Song-time is over
A fire is burning in my heart,
I was ever a rover

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#весна2 мин. чтения

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

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#the1 мин. чтения

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...

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#the5 мин. чтения

The Lanawn Shee

Powdered and perfumed the full
Winged heavily across the clover,
And where the hills were dim with dew,
Purple and blue the west leaned over

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#old2 мин. чтения

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

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#the1 мин. чтения

The Wife of Llew

And Gwydion said to Math, when it was Spring: "Come now and let us make a wife for Llew
" And so they broke broad boughs yet moist with dew,
And in a shadow made a magic ring:
They took the violet and the meadow-sweet To f...

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#ireland2 мин. чтения

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

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