On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger
When Uricon the city stood;
'Tis the old wind in the old anger,
But then it threshed another wood.
Then, 'twas before my time, the Roman
At yonder heaving hill would stare;
The blood that warms an English yeoman,
The thoughts that hurt him, they were there.
There, like the wind through woods in riot,
Through him the gale of life blew high;
The tree of man was never quiet:
Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I.
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
It blows so hard, 'twill soon be gone:
Today the Roman and his trouble
Are ashes under Uricon.
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Comments2Wow, this poem really hit me deep. The way it discusses the passage of time and how history repeats itself is pretty intense. Makes u think about how small we are in the grand scheme of things. Life's hard, then it's someone else's turn, huh? 🤔 Really makes your own troubles seem a little less significant. Life's one crazy ride, ain't it? 😅🌪️🌲🍃
Doing homework on Housman, he's got this really epic way of tying nature and history together. Got me thinkin' a lot.