On Wenlock Edge The Wood's In Trouble

Alfred Edward Housman

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.

Next 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : On Your Midnight Pallet Lying
• Alfred Edward Housman : Others, I Am Not The First
• Alfred Edward Housman : Reveille
• Alfred Edward Housman : Say, Lad, Have You Things To Do?
• Alfred Edward Housman : Shot? So Quick, So Clean An Ending?
• Alfred Edward Housman : Stars
• Alfred Edward Housman : Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying
• Alfred Edward Housman : Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Carpenter's Son
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Chestnut Casts His Flambeaux

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : On The Idle Hill Of Summer
• Alfred Edward Housman : On Moonlit Heath And Lonesome Bank
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh, When I Was In Love With You
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh Who Is That Young Sinner
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh Stay At Home, My Lad
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh See How Thick The Goldcup Flowers
• Alfred Edward Housman : Oh Fair Enough Are Sky And Plain
• Alfred Edward Housman : O Why Do You Walk ( A Parody )
• Alfred Edward Housman : Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black
• Alfred Edward Housman : March