Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

A Shropshire Lad. 41. In My Own Shire, if I Was Sad

 In my own shire, if I was sad
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
And standing hills, long to remain,
Shared their short-lived comrade's pain.
And bound for the same bourn as I,
On every road I wandered by,
Trod beside me, close and dear,
The beautiful and death-struck year:
Whether in the woodland brown
I heard the beechnut rustle down,
And saw the purple crocus pale
Flower about the autumn dale;
Or littering far the fields of May
Lady-smocks a-bleaching lay,
And like a skylit water stood
The bluebells in the azured wood.

 Yonder, lightening other loads,
The seasons range the country roads,
But here in London streets I ken
No such helpmates, only men;
And these are not in plight to bear,
If they would, another's care.
They have enough as 'tis: I see
In many an eye that measures me
The mortal sickness of a mind
Too unhappy to be kind.
Undone with misery, all they can
Is to hate their fellow man;
And till they drop they needs must still
Look at you and wish you ill.

1. More Poems. 29. From the Wash the Laundress Sends
2. More Poems. 28. He, Standing Hushed, a Pace or Two Apart
3. More Poems. 37. I Did Not Lose My Heart in Summer’s Even
4. Last Poems. 33. When the Eye of Day Is Shut
5. Last Poems. 19. In Midnights of November

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