The Stinging Nettle

Alfred Edward Housman

The stinging nettle only
Will still be found to stand:
The numberless, the lonely,
The thronger of the land,
The leaf that hurts the hand.

That thrives, come sun, come showers;
Blow east, blow west, it springs;
It peoples towns, and towers
Above the courts of Kings,
And touch it and it stings. 

Next 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : The Street Sounds To The Soldiers' Tread
• Alfred Edward Housman : The True Lover
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Welsh Marches
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Winds Out Of The West Land Blow
• Alfred Edward Housman : There Pass The Careless People
• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad
• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad; Laugh, Be Jolly
• Alfred Edward Housman : This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past
• Alfred Edward Housman : Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town
• Alfred Edward Housman : To An Athlete Dying Young

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : The Recruit
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Rainy Pleiads Wester
• Alfred Edward Housman : The New Mistress
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Merry Guide
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Lent Lily
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Laws Of God, The Laws Of Man
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Lads In Their Hundreds To Ludlow Come In For The Fair
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Lads In Their Hundreds
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Isle Of Portland
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Immortal Part