A. E. Housman — Tis time I think by Wenlock town

                  XXXIX          'Tis time, I think by Wenlock town          The golden broom should blow; The hawthorn sprinkled up and down          Should charge the land with snow.          Spring will not wait the loiterer's time          Who keeps so long away; So others wear the broom and climb          The hedgerows heaped with may.          Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,          Gold that I never see; Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge          That will not shower on me.