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. 37. I Did Not Lose My Heart in Summer’s Even
2. More Poems. 29. From the Wash the Laundress Sends
3. More Poems. 28. He, Standing Hushed, a Pace or Two Apart
4. Last Poems. 33. When the Eye of Day Is Shut
5. A Shropshire Lad. 41. In My Own Shire, if I Was Sad

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