At Boesinghe in Belgium Francis Ledwidge fell br Killed there by an exploding shell br And he did not go home again br To Ireland, County Meath and Slane. br br In Belgium the bones of the poet soldier lay br He did not live to grow old and gray br The reaper took him in his prime br And Ireland lost her Prince of rhyme. br br Francis Ledwidge had a way with words br He sang of the fields, the woods and birds br And with Nature's great poets he belong br And there is beauty in his song. br br His nickname the 'Irish John Clare' br With Nature's great poets he compare br And he was one who died so young br And his best songs had not yet been sung. br br He mourned for Elly Vaughey when she died br The flower of his own countryside br The greatest love he ever knew br And to her memory he was true. br br A soldier and a man of rhyme br He fell in Belgium in his prime br And in Belgium his bones remain br Far from the fields and woods of Slane.