Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

Last Poems. 15. Eight O'Clock

He stood, and heard the steeple
        Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
        It tossed them down.

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
        He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
        Its strength, and struck.

1. Last Poems. 22. The Sloe Was Lost in Flower
2. More Poems. 21. The World Goes None the Lamer
3. Last Poems. 13. The Deserter
4. Last Poems. 16. Spring Morning
5. More Poems. 14. The Farms of Home Lie Lost in Even

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Last Poems

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