Poem by Francis Ledwidge

In France

THE 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. 

1. At Currabwee
2. Spring and Autumn
3. To a Sparrow
4. Behind the Closed Eye
5. After Court Martial

Bryan Procter In France ("The poplars in the fields of France")

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