Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

More Poems. 14. The Farms of Home Lie Lost in Even

The farms of home lie lost in even,
        I see far off the steeple stand;
West and away from here to heaven,
        Still is the land.

There if I go no girl will greet me,
        No comrade hollo from the hill,
No dog run down the yard to meet me:
        The land is still.

The land is still by farm and steeple,
        And still for me the land may stay:
There I was friends with perished people,
        And there lie they.

1. More Poems. 33. On Forelands High in Heaven
2. Last Poems. 39. When Summer’s End Is Nighing
3. More Poems. 21. The World Goes None the Lamer
4. More Poems. 46. The Land of Biscay
5. Last Poems. 22. The Sloe Was Lost in Flower

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