A. E. Housman — Far in a western brookland

                  LII          Far in a western brookland          That bred me long ago The poplars stand and tremble          By pools I used to know.          There, in the windless night-time,          The wanderer, marvelling why, Halts on the bridge to hearken          How soft the poplars sigh.          He hears: long since forgotten          In fields where I was known, Here I lie down in London          And turn to rest alone.          There, by the starlit fences,          The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing          About the glimmering weirs.