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Tis Time I Think By Wenlock Town

 'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town 
The golden broom should blow; 
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down 
Should charge the land with snow.
Spring will not wait the loiterer's time Who keeps so long away; So others wear the broom and climb The hedgerows heaped with may.
Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge, Gold that I never see; Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge That will not shower on me.

Poem by A E Housman
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