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“June” – An Incredible Poem By Francis Ledwidge

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Another week another great Irish poem. As we come into May I felt a poem about summer or at least the start of summer would be the best fitting. 

Summer of course officially starts in June but it feels earlier this year. 

Francis Ledwidge comes in at number 38 in the list of top 100 Irish poems. In this poem, “June” Francis talks about the lovely beauty of Ireland as it comes into the summer. 

I have been debating about recording these lovely Irish poems in video form and I will start with this one. Be sure to subscribe to my YouTube channel for when that comes out. Update: I have created the video. Hope you like it! Watch it herePlease give it a like if you enjoy it. 

The Irish poem June is like a breath of fresh air. Francis Ledwidge used fantastic imagery in this poem I particularly like the last two lines(or couplet as it called in Poetry terms)

Even the roses spilt on youth’s red mouth
Will soon blow down the road all roses go.

Anyways I am sure you will enjoy this Irish poem June. I send out a new Irish poem every Friday on my weekly dose of Irish email newsletter. Subscriber here.roses Irish poem June


Broom out the floor now, lay the fender by,
And plant this bee-sucked bough of woodbine there,
And let the window down. The butterfly
Floats in upon the sunbeam, and the fair
Tanned face of June, the nomad gipsy, laughs
Above her widespread wares, the while she tells
The farmers’ fortunes in the fields, and quaffs
The water from the spider-peopled wells.
The hedges are all drowned in green grass seas,
And bobbing poppies flare like Elmo’s light,
While siren-like the pollen-staind bees
Drone in the clover depths. And up the height
The cuckoo’s voice is hoarse and broke with joy.
And on the lowland crops the crows make raid,
Nor fear the clappers of the farmer’s boy,
Who sleeps, like drunken Noah, in the shad
And loop this red rose in that hazel ring
That snares your little ear, for June is short
And we must joy in it and dance and sing,
And from her bounty draw her rosy worth.
Ay! soon the swallows will be flying south,
The wind wheel north to gather in the snow,
Even the roses spilt on youth’s red mouth
Will soon blow down the road all roses go.

Who was Francis Edward Ledwidge?

Francis Edward Ledwidge (19 August 1887 – 31 July 1917) was an Irish war poet and soldier from County Meath. Sometimes known as the “poet of the blackbirds”, he was killed in action at the Battle of Passchendaele during World War- source Wikipedia.

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