Last Poems (Housman)/The sigh that heaves the grasses
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XXVII
The sigh that heaves the grasses
Whence thou wilt never rise
Is of the air that passes
And knows not if it sighs.
Whence thou wilt never rise
Is of the air that passes
And knows not if it sighs.
The diamond tears adorning
Thy low mound on the lea,
Those are the tears of morning,
That weeps, but not for thee.
Thy low mound on the lea,
Those are the tears of morning,
That weeps, but not for thee.