Francis Ledwidge’s “Song” reads like a quiet morning promise. The speaker watches over a sleeping beloved by blue lakes and imagines only the sweetest sounds—lark and thrush—waking her. The repeated “My Beloved” feels like a gentle refrain, almost a lullaby. His feeling is patient and devoted, even a little awestruck; he waits for her eyes to open “dawn blue and clear” and trusts he will still be there. The mood is tender and calm, full of early light, birdsong, and stillness. It is less about painful longing than about faithful presence—love that keeps watch without demanding anything. The short lines and recurring phrases make the whole poem feel soft and songlike, as if love itself is the music surrounding her sleep.
Song — Summary
Nothing but sweet music wakes My Beloved, my Beloved. Sleeping by the blue lakes, My own Beloved!
Song of lark and song of thrush, My Beloved! my Beloved! Sing in morning's rosy bush, My own Beloved!
When your eyes dawn blue and clear, My Beloved! my Beloved! You will find me waiting here, My own Beloved!