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

XLVI

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.