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The Place

Frances Ledwidge
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OriginaleLa versione degli Anúna
THE PLACEWHEN THE WAR IS OVER
Blossoms as old as May I scatter here,
And a blue wave I lifted from the stream.
It shall not know when winter days are drear
Or March is hoarse with blowing. But a-dream
The laurel boughs shall hold a canopy
Peacefully over it the winter long,
Till all the birds are back from oversea,
And April rainbows win a blackbird's song.
When the war is over
I shall take my lute a-down to it
And sing again songs of the whispering things
Of the whispering things
And those I love, and those I love
Shall know them by their strain
Those I love
When the war is over
And April rainbows win a blackbird's song
And when the war is over I shall take
My lute a-down to it and sing again
Songs of the whispering things amongst the brake,
And those I love shall know them by their strain.
Their airs shall be the blackbird's twilight song,
Their words shall be all flowers with fresh dews hoar.—
But it is lonely now in winter long,
And, God! to hear the blackbird sing once more.
Their airs shall be, their airs shall be
The blackbird's twilight song
But it is lonely now, lonely now
In winter, in winter long
And, God, to hear the blackbird
The blackbird sing once more
When the war is over, war is over


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