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Poem by Francis Ledwidge


Lament for Thomas Mcdonagh


He shall not hear the bittern cry
In the wild sky, where he is lain,
Nor voices of the sweeter birds,
Above the wailing of the rain.

Nor shall he know when loud March blows
Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill,
Blowing to flame the golden cup
Of many an upset daffodil.

But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor
And pastures poor with greedy weeds
Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn
Lifting her horn in pleasant meads. 



Francis Ledwidge


Francis Ledwidge's other poems:
  1. At Currabwee
  2. Old Clo
  3. Spring and Autumn
  4. A Little Boy in the Morning
  5. Thoughts at the Trysting Stile


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