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 we'll 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

We'll hear again at Rosnaree."

A bomb burst near me where I lay.

I woke, 'twas day in Picardy.

This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge, Published by Herbert Jenkins, London 1918 [page Poem Dated: France, January 7th, 1917Words and spelling verified JSNOTERosnaree == A small village in County Meath, Ireland