It Nods And Curtseys And Recovers

Alfred Edward Housman

It nods and curtseys and recovers
When the wind blows above,
The nettle on the graves of lovers
That hanged themselves for love.

The nettle nods, the wind blows over,
The man, he does not move,
The lover of the grave, the lover
That hanged himself for love.

Next 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : Loitering With A Vacant Eye
• Alfred Edward Housman : Look Not In My Eyes, For Fear
• Alfred Edward Housman : Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now
• Alfred Edward Housman : March
• Alfred Edward Housman : Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black
• Alfred Edward Housman : O Why Do You Walk ( A Parody )
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh Fair Enough Are Sky And Plain
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh See How Thick The Goldcup Flowers
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh Stay At Home, My Lad
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh Who Is That Young Sinner

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : Is My Team Ploughing
• Alfred Edward Housman : Into My Heart An Air That Kills
• Alfred Edward Housman : In Valleys Of Springs And Rivers
• Alfred Edward Housman : In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad
• Alfred Edward Housman : If Truth In Hearts That Perish
• Alfred Edward Housman : If By Chance Your Eye Offend You
• Alfred Edward Housman : I Hoed And Trenched And Weeded
• Alfred Edward Housman : Hughley Steeple
• Alfred Edward Housman : Ho, Everyone That Thirsteth
• Alfred Edward Housman : Here Dead We Lie