Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
Return to the A. E. Housman library
, or . . . Read the next poem;
A Shropshire Lad - XLI