A. E. Housman: Far in a western brookland

Far in a western brookland  That bred me long ago The poplars stand and tremble  By pools I used to know.
There, in the windless night-time,  The wanderer, marvelling why, Halts on the bridge to hearken  How soft the poplars sigh.
He hears: long since forgotten  In fields where I was known, Here I lie down in London  And turn to rest alone.
There, by the starlit fences,  The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing  About the glimmering weirs.