'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.

Spring will not wait the loiterer's time
Who keeps so long away;
So others wear the broom and climb
The hedgerows heaped with may.

Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,
Gold that I never see;
Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge
That will not shower on me.

(C) A. E. Housman
01/01/2000


Best Poems of A. E. Housman

• The Recruit
• Bring, In This Timeless Grave To Throw
• March
• When I Was One-and-twenty
• Loitering With A Vacant Eye
• Bredon Hill
• Be Still, My Soul, Be Still; The Arms You Bear Are Brittle
• It Nods And Curtseys And Recovers
• Is My Team Ploughing
• When I Came Last To Ludlow
• Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now
• Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town
• If By Chance Your Eye Offend You
• On The Idle Hill Of Summer
• Westward On The High-hilled Plains
• Twice A Week The Winter Thorough
• The New Mistress
• If Truth In Hearts That Perish
• In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad
• Diffugere Nives (horace, Odes 4.7)
• You Smile Upon Your Friend To-day