Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town

Alfred Edward Housman

’Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.

Spring will not wait the loiterer’s time
Who keeps so long away;
So others wear the broom and climb
The hedgerows heaped with may.

Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,
Gold that I never see;
Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge
That will not shower on me.

Next 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : To An Athlete Dying Young
• Alfred Edward Housman : Twice A Week The Winter Thorough
• Alfred Edward Housman : Wake Not For The World-heard Thunder
• Alfred Edward Housman : Westward On The High-hilled Plains
• Alfred Edward Housman : When I Came Last To Ludlow
• Alfred Edward Housman : When I Was One-and-twenty
• Alfred Edward Housman : When I Watch The Living Meet
• Alfred Edward Housman : When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow
• Alfred Edward Housman : When The Lad For Longing Sighs
• Alfred Edward Housman : White In The Moon The Long Road Lies

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past
• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad; Laugh, Be Jolly
• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad
• Alfred Edward Housman : There Pass The Careless People
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Winds Out Of The West Land Blow
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Welsh Marches
• Alfred Edward Housman : The True Lover
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Street Sounds To The Soldiers' Tread
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Stinging Nettle
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Recruit