The Sylph

I saw you and I named a flower

That lights with blue a woodland space,

I named a bird of the red hour

And a hidden fairy place.

And then I saw you not, and knew

Dead leaves were whirling down the mist,

And something lost was crying through -

An evening of amethyst.

This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge, Published by Herbert Jenkins, London 1918 [page 70]Poem Dated: circa 1917Words and spelling verified JS