The Hawthorn Tree

A poem by Siegfried Sassoon

Not much to me is yonder lane
Where I go every day;
But when there's been a shower of rain
And hedge-birds whistle gay,
I know my lad that's out in France
With fearsome things to see
Would give his eyes for just one glance
At our white hawthorn tree.
* * * * *
Not much to me is yonder lane
Where he so longs to tread;
But when there's been a shower of rain
I think I'll never weep again
Until I've heard he's dead.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'The Hawthorn Tree' by Siegfried Sassoon

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy