The Sylph
I saw you and I named a flower
That lights with blue a woodland space,
I named a bird of the red hour
And a hidden fairy place.
And then I saw you not, and knew
Dead leaves were whirling down the mist,
And something lost was crying through -
An evening of amethyst.
This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge, Published by Herbert Jenkins, London 1918 [page 70]Poem Dated: circa 1917Words and spelling verified JS