Poem by Francis Ledwidge

Spring and Autumn

Green ripples singing down the corn,
With blossoms dumb the path I tread,
And in the music of the morn
One with wild roses on her head.

Now the green ripples turn to gold
And all the paths are loud with rain,
I with desire am growing old
And full of winter pain. 

1. The Dead Kings
2. Old Clo
3. Ceol Sidhe
4. Lament for Thomas Mcdonagh
5. A Little Boy in the Morning

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