Francis Ledwidge

I heard the Poor Old Woman say:"At break of day the fowler came,
And took my blackbirds from their
Who loved me well thro' shame and blame No more from lovely
Their songs shall bless me mile by mile,

I was just coming in from the garden,
Or about to go fishing for eels,
And, smiling,
I asked you to

The silence of maternal
Is round me in my evening dreams ;
And round me music-making
And mingling waves of pastoral streams

Lady fair, have we not
In our lives elsewhere
Darkling in my mind
Faint fair faces

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

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

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

Maiden-poet, come with
To the heaped up cairn of Maeve,
And there we'll dance a fairy
Upon a fairy's grave

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,

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
...

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

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