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Alfred Edward Housman (Альфред Эдвард Хаусман)

More Poems. 34. Young Is the Blood that Yonder

Young is the blood that yonder
        Strides out the dusty mile,
And breasts the hill-side highway
        And whistles loud the while,
        And vaults the stile.

Yet backs, I think, have burdens
        And shoulders carry care:
So fell to flesh its portion
        When I and not my heir
        Was young and there.

On miry meads in winter
        The football sprang and fell,
May stuck the land with wickets:
        For all the eye could tell
        The world went well.

Yet well, God knows, it went not,
        God knows, it went awry;
For me, one flowery Maytime,
        It went so ill that I
        Designed to die.

And if so long I carry
        The lot that season marred,
’Tis that the sons of Adam
        Are not so evil-starred
        As they are hard.

Young is the blood that yonder
        Succeeds to rick and fold,
Fresh are the form and favour
        And new the minted mould:
        The thoughts are old.

Alfred Edward Housman's other poems:
  1. More Poems. 41. He Looked at Me with Eyes I Thought
  2. More Poems. 4. The Sage to the Young Man
  3. More Poems. 9. When Green Buds Hang in the Elm Like Dust
  4. Additional Poems. 4. It Is No Gift I Tender
  5. Additional Poems. 6. Ask Me no More, for Fear I Should Reply

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