A Shropshire Lad
XVI
It nods and curtseys and recovers
When the wind blows above,
The nettle on the graves of lovers
That hanged themselves for love.
When the wind blows above,
The nettle on the graves of lovers
That hanged themselves for love.
The nettle nods, the wind blows over,
The man, he does not move,
The lover of the grave, the lover
That hanged himself for love.
The man, he does not move,
The lover of the grave, the lover
That hanged himself for love.
❦
XVII
Twice a week the winter thorough
Here stood I to keep the goal:
Football then was fighting sorrow
For the young man's soul.
Here stood I to keep the goal:
Football then was fighting sorrow
For the young man's soul.
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