- by Francis Ledwidge 95THE silence of maternal hills
Is round me in my evening dreams;
And round me music-making rills
And mingling waves of pastoral streams.
Whatever way I turn I find
The path is old unto me still.
The hills of home are in my mind,
And there I wander as I will.
- by Francis Ledwidge 68He knows the safe ways and unsafe
And he will lead the lambs to fold,
Gathering them with his merry pipe,
The gentle and the overbold.
He counts them over one by one,
And leads them back by cliff and steep,
To grassy hills where dawn is wide,
And they may run and skip and leap.
And just because he loves the lambs
He settles them for rest at noon,
And plays them on his oaten pipe
The very wonder of a tune.
Poems by Francis Ledwidge, Francis Ledwidge's poems collection. Francis Ledwidge is a classical and famous poet (19 August 1887 - 31 July 1917 / Janeville, Slane). Share all poems of Francis Ledwidge.
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