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. 9. When Green Buds Hang in the Elm Like Dust
2. Additional Poems. 13. Oh Turn not in from Marching
3. More Poems. 11. The Rainy Pleiads Wester
4. Additional Poems. 5. Here Are the Skies, the Planets Seven
5. More Poems. 18. Delight it Is in Youth and May

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