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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341526" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>As Through the Wild Green Hills of Wyre</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">As through the wild green hills of Wyre <br>The train ran, changing sky and shire, <br>And far behind, a fading crest, <br>Low in the forsaken west <br>Sank the high-reared head of Clee, <br>My hand lay empty on my knee. <br>Aching on my knee it lay: <br>That morning half a shire away <br>So many an honest fellow's fist <br>Had well-nigh wrung it from the wrist. <br>Hand, said I, since now we part <br>From fields and men we know by heart, <br>For strangers' faces, strangers' lands,-- <br>Hand, you have held true fellows' hands. <br>Be clean then; rot before you do <br>A thing they'll not believe of you. <br>You and I must keep from shame <br>In London streets the Shropshire name; <br>On banks of Thames they must not say <br>Severn breeds worse men than they; <br>And friends abroad must bear in mind <br>Friends at home they leave behind. <br>Oh, I shall be stiff and cold <br>When I forget you, hearts of gold; <br>The land where I shall mind you not <br>Is the land where all's forgot. <br>And if my foot returns no more <br>To Teme nor Corve nor Severn shore, <br>Luck, my lads, be with you still <br>By falling stream and standing hill, <br>By chiming tower and whispering tree, <br>Men that made a man of me. <br>About your work in town and farm <br>Still you'll keep my head from harm, <br>Still you'll help me, hands that gave <br>A grasp to friend me to the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alfred+Edward+Housman">Alfred Edward Housman</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341526" data-title="As Through the Wild Green Hills of Wyre de Alfred Edward Housman" data-description="As through the wild green hills of Wyre 
The train ran, changing sky and shire, 
And far behind, a fading crest, 
Low in the forsaken west 
Sank the high-reared head of Clee, 
My hand lay empty on my knee. 
Aching on my knee it lay: 
That morning ..."></div>
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