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>
A.E. Housman
>
A Shropshire Lad
> Contents
CONTENTS
·
BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
A. E. Housman
(18591936).
A Shropshire Lad.
1896.
Contents
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Leave your home behind, lad
Wake: the silver dusk returning
Oh see how thick the goldcup flowers
When the lad for longing sighs
When smoke stood up from Ludlow
Farewell to barn and stack and tree
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
The Sun at noon to higher air
On your midnight pallet lying
When I watch the living meet
When I was one-and-twenty
There pass the careless people
Look not in my eyes, for fear
It nods and curtseys and recovers
Twice a week the winter thorough
Oh, when I was in love with you
The time you won your town the race
Oh fair enough are sky and plain
In summertime on Bredon
The street sounds to the soldiers tread
The lads in their hundreds
Say, lad, have you things to do
This time of year a twelvemonth past
Along the field as we came by
Is my team ploughing
High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
Tis spring; come out to ramble
Others, I am not the first
On Wenlock Edge the woods in trouble
From far, from eve and morning
If truth in hearts that perish
Oh, sick I am to see you
On the idle hill of summer
White in the moon the long road lies
As through the wild green hills of Wyre
The winds out of the west land blow
Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
Into my heart on air that kills
In my own shire, if I was sad
Once in the wind of morning
When I meet the morning beam
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending
If it chance your eye offend you
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw
Here the hangman stops his cart
Be still, my soul, be still
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly
In valleys of springs of rivers
Loitering with a vacant eye
Far in a western brookland
The lad came to the door at night
With rue my heart is laden
Westward on the high-hilled plains
Far I hear the bugle blow
You smile upon your friend to-day
When I came last to Ludlow
The star-filled seas are smooth to-night
Now hollow fires burn out to black
The vane on Hughley steeple
Terence, this is stupid stuff
I hoed and trenched and weeded
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