From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.
Now-- for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart--
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.
Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.
More verses by Alfred Edward Housman
- Is My Team Ploughing
- Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff
- Farewell To Barn And Stack And Tree
- When I Was One-And-Twenty
- Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now