The Author A. E. Housman

A Shropshire Lad - LII


    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.


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