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.
At A Poet's Grave
Francis Ledwidge
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Poem topics: friend, heart, sleep, summer, sweet, rise, hear, poet, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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