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Padraic Colum (1881–1972).  Anthology of Irish Verse.  1922.
 
71. The Shadow People
 
By Francis Ledwidge
 
 
OLD lame Bridget doesn’t hear
Fairy music in the grass
When the gloaming’s on the mere
And the shadow people pass:
Never hears their slow, grey feet        5
Coming from the village street
Just beyond the parson’s wall,
Where the clover globes are sweet
And the mushroom’s parasol
Opens in the moonlit rain.        10
Every night I hear them call
From their long and merry train.
Old lame Bridget says to me,
“It’s just your fancy, child.”
She cannot believe I see        15
Laughing faces in the wild,
Hands that twinkle in the sedge,
Where the finny minnows quiver,
Shaping on a blue wave’s ledge
Bubble foam to sail the river.        20
And the sunny hands to me
Beckon ever, beckon ever.
Oh! I would be wild and free
And with the shadow people be.
 

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