In Memory of Francis Ledwidge;
At A Poets Grave.
When I leave down this pipe my friend
And sleep with flower I loved, apart,
My songs shall rise in wilding things
Whose roots are in my Heart
And here where that sweet poet sleeps
I hear the songs he left unsung,
When winds are fluttering the flowers
And summer-bells are rung.
Francis Ledwidge 1/08/1887-31/07/1917
November, 1916.
