Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
More verses by Alfred Edward Housman
- Lx: Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black
- Xii: He Would Not Stay With Me And Who Can Wonder
- Xxvi: The Half-Moon Westers Low My Love
- Goodnight
- When I Came Last To Ludlow