The Winds Out Of The West Land Blow

Alfred Edward Housman

The winds out of the west land blow,
My friends have breathed them there;
Warm with the blood of lads I know
Comes east the sighing air.

It fanned their temples, filled their lungs,
Scattered their forelocks free;
My friends made words of it with tongues
That talk no more to me.

Their voices, dying as they fly,
Thick on the wind are sown;
The names of men blow soundless by,
My fellows’ and my own.

Oh lads, at home I heard you plain,
But here your speech is still,
And down the sighing wind in vain
You hollo from the hill.

The wind and I, we both were there,
But neither long abode;
Now through the friendless world we fare
And sigh upon the road.

Next 10 Poems

• 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
• Alfred Edward Housman : Twice A Week The Winter Thorough
• Alfred Edward Housman : Wake Not For The World-heard Thunder
• Alfred Edward Housman : Westward On The High-hilled Plains
• Alfred Edward Housman : When I Came Last To Ludlow

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : The Welsh Marches
• Alfred Edward Housman : The True Lover
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Street Sounds To The Soldiers' Tread
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Stinging Nettle
• 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