Francis Ledwidge (Фрэнсис Ледвидж)

The Little Children

Hunger points a bony finger
To the workhouse on the hill,
But the little children linger
While there's flowers to gather still
For my sunny window sill.

In my hands I take their faces,
Smiling to my smiles they run.
Would that I could take their places
Where the murky bye-ways shun
The benedictions of the sun

How they laugh and sing returning
Lightly on their secret way.
While I listen in my yearning
Their laughter fills the windy day
With gladness, youth and May. 

1. The Lost Ones
2. A Mother's Song
3. At Currabwee
4. Thoughts at the Trysting Stile
5. A Little Boy in the Morning

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