'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. 

Added: Apr 5 2005 | Viewed: 448 times | Comments (0)

Poet: A.E. Housman
Poem: Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town

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