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