A. E. Housman — I Hoed and trenched and weeded

                  LXIII          I hoed and trenched and weeded,          And took the flowers to fair: I brought them home unheeded;          The hue was not the wear.          So up and down I sow them          For lads like me to find, When I shall lie below them,          A dead man out of mind.          Some seed the birds devour,          And some the season mars, But here and there will flower          The solitary stars,          And fields will yearly bear them          As light-leaved spring comes on, And luckless lads will wear them          When I am dead and gone.