On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble
by
A.E. Housman |
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 snow 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 hill would stare: |
The blood that warms an English yeoman, |
The thoughts that hurt him, they were
there.
|
There, like the wind through woods in riot, |
Through him the gale of life blew high; |
The tree of man was never quiet: |
Then ’twas the Roman, now ’tis I.
|
The gale, it plies the saplings double, |
It blows so hard, ’twill soon be gone: |
To-day the Roman and his trouble |
Are ashes under Uricon.
|
A.E. Housman |
Classic Poems |
|
[ Bredon Hill ] [ Clunton and Clunbury ] [ 'Is my team ploughing ] [ Parta Quies ] [ On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble; ] [ Loveliest of trees, the cherry now ] [ The Merry Guide ] [ 'Tis time, I think by Wenlock Town ] [ When I came last to Ludlow ] [ When I was one-and-twenty ] |