The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge/Last Songs/At a Poet's Grave

For works with similar titles, see At a Poet's Grave.

AT A POET'S GRAVE

When I leave down this pipe my friend
And sleep with flowers I loved, apart,
My songs shall rise in wilding things
Whose roots are in my heart.

And here where that sweet poet sleeps
I hear the songs he left unsung,
When winds are fluttering the flowers
And summer-bells are rung.

November, 1916.

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