Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

A Shropshire Lad. 52. Far in a Western Brookland

Far in a western brookland
  That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
  By pools I used to know.

There, in the windless night-time,
  The wanderer, marvelling why,
Halts on the bridge to hearken
  How soft the poplars sigh.

He hears: no more remembered
  In fields where I was known,
Here I lie down in London
  And turn to rest alone.

There, by the starlit fences,
  The wanderer halts and hears
My soul that lingers sighing
  About the glimmering weirs. 

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

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