The sloe was lost in flower,
The April elm was dim;
That was the lover's hour,
The hour for lies and him.
If thorns are all the bower,
If north winds freeze the fir,
Why, 'tis another's hour,
The hour for truth and her.
More verses by Alfred Edward Housman
- Xxxv: When First My Way To Fair I Took
- The Nonsense Verse
- Xviii: The Rain It Streams On Stone And Hillock
- Xvi: How Clear, How Lovely Bright
- Xxi: The World Goes None The Lamer