He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.
Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.
More verses by Alfred Edward Housman
- Into My Heart An Air That Kills
- From Far, From Eve And Morning
- Is My Team Ploughing
- Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff
- Farewell To Barn And Stack And Tree