Poem by Francis 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 the Shee.
The dewy bells of evening ring,
And all is melody. 

1. At Currabwee
2. Spring and Autumn
3. Behind the Closed Eye
4. After Court Martial
5. To a Sparrow

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