A. E. Housman (1859–1936). A Shropshire Lad. 1896.
LII. Far in a western brookland
F
That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
By pools I used to know.
The wanderer, marvelling why,
Halts on the bridge to hearken
How soft the poplars sigh.
In fields where I was known,
Here I lie down in London
And turn to rest alone.
The wanderer halts and hears
My soul that lingers sighing
About the glimmering weirs.