Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/268

 CEOL SIDHE

May is here, and every morn

Is dappled with pied bells,

And dewdrops glance along the thorn

And wings flash in the dells,

I take my pipe and play a tune

Of dreams, a whispered melody,

For feet that dance beneath the moon

In fairy jollity.

And when the pastoral hills are grey

And the dim stars are spread,

A scamper fills the grass like play

Of feet where fairies tread.

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