Friday Poetry: A. E. Housman

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has had a good week so far. Apologies for not blogging much this week, tiredness has been hampering things.

I chose the poem for this week because I live very close to Wenlock Edge and love walking there.

On Wenlock Edge

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. Housmann

Happy Reading