Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

A Shropshire Lad. 31. On Wenlock Edge the Wood's in Trouble

On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
 His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
 And thick on Severn snow the leaves.

'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger
 When Uricon the city stood:
'Tis the old wind in the old anger,
 But then it threshed another wood.

Then, 'twas before my time, the Roman
 At yonder heaving hill would stare:
The blood that warms an English yeoman,
 The thoughts that hurt him, they were there.

There, like the wind through woods in riot,
 Through him the gale of life blew high;
The tree of man was never quiet:
 Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I.

The gale, it plies the saplings double,
 It blows so hard, 'twill soon be gone:
To-day the Roman and his trouble
 Are ashes under Uricon.

1. Additional Poems. 4. It Is No Gift I Tender
2. Last Poems. 26. The Half-Moon Westers Low, My Love
3. More Poems. 46. The Land of Biscay
4. More Poems. 40. Farewell to a Name and a Number
5. Additional Poems. 2. Oh Were He and I Together

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