One of the most moving Irish Poems I know... The Dead Kings All the dead kings came to me At Rosnaree, where I was dreaming. A few stars glimmered through the morn, And down the thorn the dews were streaming. And every dead king had a story Of ancient glory, sweetly told. It was too early for the lark, But the starry dark had tints of gold. I listened to the sorrows three Of that Eire passed into song. A cock crowed near a hazel croft, And up aloft dim larks winged strong. And I, too, told the kings a story Of later glory, her fourth sorrow: There was a sound like moving shields In high green fields and the lowland furrow. And one said: We who yet are kings Have heard these things lamenting inly. Sweet music flowed from many a bill And on the hill the morn stood queenly. And one said: Over is the singing, And bell bough ringing, whence we come; With heavy hearts well tread the shadows, In honey meadows birds are dumb. And one said: Since the poets perished And all they cherished in the way, Their thoughts unsung, like petal showers Inflame the hours of blue and gray. And one said: A loud tramp of men Well hear again at Rosnaree. A bomb burst near me where I lay. I woke, twas day in Picardy. -- Francis Ledwidge (an Irish Poet writing as a British Soldier during WWI)
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 19:10:38 +0000
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