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,
Sixty-nine won't come again,
And take from seventy springs that score,
It only leaves me just one more.
And since to look at things in bloom
A single spring is little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Acknowledging A E Housman
