Last Poems

Last Poems

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Last Poems  by A. E. Housman

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Last Poems

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Book Excerpt

r;

And winterfalls of old
Are with me from the past;

And chiefly I remember

How Dick would hate the cold.

Fall, winter, fall; for he,

Prompt hand and headpiece clever,

Has woven a winter robe,
And made of earth and sea

His overcoat for ever,

And wears the turning globe.

XXI.

The fairies break their dances

And leave the printed lawn,
And up from India glances

The silver sail of dawn.

The candles burn their sockets,

The blinds let through the day,
The young man feels his pockets

And wonders what's to pay.

XXII.

The sloe was lost in flower,

The April elm was dim;
That was the lover's hour,

The hour for lies and him.

If thorns are all the bower,

If north winds freeze the fir,
Why, 'tis another's hour,

The hour for truth and her.

XXIII.

In the morning, in the morning,

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