On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snows the leaves.
‘Twould blow like this through holt and hanger
When Uricon the city stood:
‘Tis the old wind in the old anger,
But then it threshed another wood.
Then, ’twas before my time, the Roman
At yonder heaving [...]
Archive for the ‘A E Housman’ Category
On Wenlock Edge
Posted in A E Housman, Poetry on May 29, 2008 | Leave a Comment »
Oh Who Is That Young Sinner?
Posted in A E Housman, Poetry on December 19, 2007 | 1 Comment »
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they’re taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
‘Tis a shame to human nature such a head of hair as his;
In [...]
Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries
Posted in A E Housman, Poetry on September 2, 2007 | Leave a Comment »
These, in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth’s foundations fled,
Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.
Their shoulders held the sky suspended;
They stood, and earth’s foundations stay;
What God abandoned, these defended,
Anjd saved the sum of things for pay.
(A E Housman)
