A Shropshire Lad · A. E. Housman

Chapter XXXIX

40 of 64 · 1 min of reading

'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.

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End of part 40 of 64