and since I just mentioned A.E. Housman, and since all the lawns here are currently covered in a beautiful fine dusting of white April snow, I am compelled to put up his famous ode to the cherry, which first appeared in A Shropshire Lad towards the end of the nineteenth century:
From Bartleby’s collection of verse.
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
From Bartleby’s collection of verse.
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