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Dreamy, Francis Ledwidge, in English Clear filters

DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

In the Mediterranean--Going to the War

Lovely wings of gold and green Flit about the sounds I hear, On my window when I lean To the shadows cool and clear. Roaming, I am listening still, Bending, listening overlong, In my soul a steadier will, In my heart a newer song.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

Low-Moon Land

I often look when the moon is low Thro' that other window on the wall, At a land all beautiful under snow, Blotted with shadows that come and go When the winds rise up and fall. And the form of a beautiful maid In the white silence stands, And beckons me with her hands. And when the cares of the day are laid, Like sacred things, in the mart away, I dream of the low-moon land and the maid Who will not weary of waiting, or jade Of calling to me for aye. And I would go if I knew the sea That lips the shore where the moon is low, For a longing is on me that will not go.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

The Sister

I saw the little quiet town, And the whitewashed gables on the hill, And laughing children coming down The laneway to the mill. Wind-blushes up their faces glowed, And they were happy as could be, The wobbling water never flowed So merry and so free. One little maid withdrew aside To pick a pebble from the sands. Her golden hair was long and wide, And there were dimples on her hands. And when I saw her large blue eyes, What was the pain that went thro' me? Why did I think on Southern skies And ships upon the sea?
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

August

She'll come at dusky first of day, White over yellow harvest's song. Upon her dewy rainbow way She shall be beautiful and strong. The lidless eye of noon shall spray Tan on her ankles in the hay, Shall kiss her brown the whole day long. I'll know her in the windrows, tall Above the crickets of the hay. I'll know her when her odd eyes fall, One May-blue, one November-grey. I'll watch her from the red barn wall Take down her rusty scythe, and call, And I will follow her away.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

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 form her pretty face, and for her feet They built a mound of daisies on a wing, And for her voice they made a linnet sing In the wide poppy blowing for her mouth. And over all they chanted twenty hours. And Llew came singing from the azure south And bore away his wife of birds and flowers.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

Home

A burst of sudden wings at dawn, Faint voices in a dreamy noon, Evenings of mist and murmurings, And nights with rainbows of the moon. And through these things a wood-way dim, And waters dim, and slow sheep seen On uphill paths that wind away Through summer sounds and harvest green. This is a song a robin sang This morning on a broken tree, It was about the little fields That call across the world to me.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

The Sylph

I saw you and I named a flower That lights with blue a woodland space, I named a bird of the red hour And a hidden fairy place. And then I saw you not, and knew Dead leaves were whirling down the mist, And something lost was crying through An evening of amethyst.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

The Rushes

The rushes nod by the river As the winds on the loud waves go, And the things they nod of are many, For it's many the secret they know. And I think they are wise as the fairies Who lived ere the hills were high, They nod so grave by the river To everyone passing by. If they would tell me their secrets I would go by a hidden way, To the rath when the moon retiring Dips dim horns into the gray. And a fairy-girl out of Leinster In a long dance I should meet, My heart to her heart beating, My feet in rhyme with her feet.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

Ceol Sidhe

When May is here, and every morn Is dappled with pied bells, And dewdrops glance along the thorn And wings flash in the dells, I take my pipe and play a tune Of dreams, a whispered melody, For feet that dance beneath the moon In fairy jollity. And when the pastoral hills are grey And the dim stars are spread, A scamper fills the grass like play Of feet where fairies tread. And many a little whispering thing Is calling to the Shee. The dewy bells of evening ring, And all is melody.
DreamyFrancis Ledwidge

Song-Time Is Over

I will come no more awhile, O Song-time is over. A fire is burning in my heart, I was ever a rover. You will hear me no more awhile, The birds are dumb, And a voice in the distance calls "Come," and "Come,"

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