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Poem by Alfred Edward Housman


Last Poems. 40. Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying


Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.

On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And travellers joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.

On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.

Posses, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.

For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What strangers feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no. 



Alfred Edward Housman


Alfred Edward Housman's other poems:
  1. Last Poems. 20. The Night Is Freezing Fast
  2. More Poems. 11. The Rainy Pleiads Wester
  3. More Poems. 46. The Land of Biscay
  4. More Poems. 14. The Farms of Home Lie Lost in Even
  5. More Poems. 40. Farewell to a Name and a Number


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