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.
The latest issue of The New Republic features a piece [subscriber link] by classicist Peter Green. While purporting to be a review of the new collection of A.E. Houseman's letters, "The Land of Lost Content" is a thoughtful look at A.E. Housman as poet, classical scholar, and extremely private person.