Francis Ledwidge (Фрэнсис Ледвидж)

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. A Mother's Song
2. Old Clo
3. After Court Martial
4. Spring and Autumn
5. A Little Boy in the Morning

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1801

Последние стихотворения

To English version