Bring, In This Timeless Grave To Throw by A. E. Housman

Bring, in this timeless grave to throw
No cypress, sombre on the snow;
Snap not from the bitter yew
His leaves that live December through;
Break no rosemary, bright with rime
And sparkling to the cruel crime;
Nor plod the winter land to look
For willows in the icy brook
To cast them leafless round him: bring
To spray that ever buds in spring.


But if the Christmas field has kept
Awns the last gleaner overstept,
Or shrivelled flax, whose flower is blue
A single season, never two;
Or if one haulm whose year is o'er
Shivers on the upland frore,
--Oh, bring from hill and stream and plain
Whatever will not flower again,
To give him comfort: he and those
Shall bide eternal bedfellows
Where low upon the couch he lies
Whence he never shall arise.

by A. E. Housman

Other poems by 'A. E. Housman'

To An Athlete Dying Young

Terence, This is Stupid Stuff

When I Was One-and-Twenty

Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now

Is My Team Ploughing

Eight O'Clock

Stars

Twice a Week the Winter Thorough

With Rue My Heart Is Laden

The Day of Battle