The Author A. E. Housman

A Shropshire Lad - XLVI


    Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
    No cypress, sombre on the snow;
    Snap not from the bitter yew
    His leaves that live December through;
    Break no rosemary, bright with rime
    And sparkling to the cruel clime;
    Nor plod the winter land to look
    For willows in the icy brook
    To cast them leafless round him: bring
    No spray that ever buds in spring.

    But if the Christmas field has kept
    Awns the last gleaner overstept,
    Or shrivelled flax, whose flower is blue
    A single season, never two;
    Or if one haulm whose year is o'er
    Shivers on the upland frore,
    -Oh, bring from hill and stream and plain
    Whatever will not flower again,
    To give him comfort: he and those
    Shall bide eternal bedfellows
    Where low upon the couch he lies
    Whence he never shall arise.


facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest

Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add A Shropshire Lad - XLVI to your own personal library.

Return to the A. E. Housman Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; A Shropshire Lad - XLVIII

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson