A Shropshire Lad

A. E. Housman



Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
The Recruit
Oh see how thick the goldcup flowers
When the lad for longing sighs,
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
On your midnight pallet lying
When I watch the living meet,
When I was one-and-twenty
There pass the careless people
Look not in my eyes, for fear
It nods and curtseys and recovers
Twice a week the winter thorough
Oh, when I was in love with you,
To an Athlete Dying Young
Oh fair enough are sky and plain,
Bredon Hill
The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
Say, lad, have you things to do?
This time of year a twelvemonth past,
Along the fields as we came by
"Is my team ploughing,
The Welsh Marches
The Lent Lily
Others, I am not the first,
On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
From far, from eve and morning
If truth in hearts that perish
The New Mistress
On the idle hill of summer,
White in the moon the long road lies,
As through the wild green hills of Wyre
The winds out of the west land blow,
'Tis time, I think by Wenlock town
Into my heart an air that kills
In my own shire, if I was sad
The Merry Guide
The Immortal Part
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
If it chance your eye offend you,
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
The Carpenter's Son
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly:
Clunton and Clunbury,
Loitering with a vacant eye
Far in a western brookland
The True Lover
With rue my heart is laden
Westward on the high-hilled plains
The Day of Battle
You smile upon your friend to-day,
When I came last to Ludlow
The Isle of Portland
Now hollow fires burn out to black,
Hughley Steeple
"Terence, this is stupid stuff:
I Hoed and trenched and weeded,
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