Last Poems (Housman)/The First of May

by Alfred Edward Housman

XXXIV
The First of May

The orchards half the way
 From home to Ludlow fair
Flowered on the first of May
 In Mays when I was there;
And seen from stile or turning
 The plume of smoke would show
Where fires were burning
 That went out long ago.

The plum broke forth in green,
 The pear stood high and snowed,
My friends and I between
 Would take the Ludlow road;
Dressed to the nines and drinking
 And light in heart and limb,
And each chap thinking
 The fair was held for him.

Between the trees in flower
 New friends at fairtime tread
The way where Ludlow tower
 Stands planted on the dead.
Our thoughts, a long while after,
 They think, our words they say;
Theirs now the laughter,
 The fair, the first of May.

Ay, yonder lads are yet
 The fools that we were then;
For oh, the sons we get
 Are still the sons of men.
The sumless tale of sorrow
 Is all unrolled in vain:
May comes to-morrow
 And Ludlow fair again.