All the dead kings came to me <br />At Rosnaree, where I was dreaming. <br />A few stars glimmered through the morn, <br />And down the thorn the dews were streaming. <br /> <br />And every dead king had a story <br />Of ancient glory, sweetly told. <br />It was too early for the lark, <br />But the starry dark had tints of gold. <br /> <br />I listened to the sorrows three <br />Of that Eire passed into song. <br />A cock crowed near a hazel croft, <br />And up aloft dim larks winged strong. <br /> <br /> <br />And I, too, told the kings a story <br />Of later glory, her fourth sorrow: <br />There was a sound like moving shields <br />In high green fields and the lowland furrow. <br /> <br />And one said : ' We who yet are kings <br />Have heard these things lamenting inly.' <br />Sweet music flowed from many a bill <br />And on the hill the morn stood queenly. <br /> <br />And one said : ' Over is the singing, <br />And bell bough ringing, whence we come ; <br />With heavy hearts we'll tread the shadows, <br />In honey meadows birds are dumb.' <br /> <br />And one said : ' Since the poets perished <br />And all they cherished in the way, <br />Their thoughts unsung, like petal showers <br />Inflame the hours of blue and gray.' <br /> <br />And one said : ' A loud tramp of men <br />We'll hear again at Rosnaree.' <br />A bomb burst near me where I lay. <br />I woke, 'twas day in Picardy.<br /><br />Francis Ledwidge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dead-kings/
