High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam <br />Islanded in Severn stream; <br />The bridges from the steepled crest <br />Cross the water east and west. <br /> <br />The flag of morn in conqueror's state <br />Enters at the English gate: <br />The vanquished eve, as night prevails, <br />Bleeds upon the road to Wales. <br /> <br />Ages since the vanquished bled <br />Round my mother's marriage-bed; <br />There the ravens feasted far <br />About the open house of war: <br /> <br />When Severn down to Buildwas ran <br />Coloured with the death of man, <br />Couched upon her brother's grave <br />That Saxon got me on the slave. <br /> <br />The sound of fight is silent long <br />That began the ancient wrong; <br />Long the voice of tears is still <br />That wept of old the endless ill. <br /> <br />In my heart it has not died, <br />The war that sleeps on Severn side; <br />They cease not fighting, east and west, <br />On the marches of my breat. <br /> <br />Here the truceless armies yet <br />Trample, rolled in blood and sweat; <br />They kill and kill and never die; <br />And I think that each is I. <br /> <br />None will part us, none undo <br />The knot that makes one flesh of two, <br />Sick with hatred, sick with pain, <br />Strangling-- When shall we be slain? <br /> <br />When shall I be dead and rid <br />Of the wrong my father did? <br />How long, how long, till spade and hearse <br />Puts to sleep my mother's curse?<br /><br />Alfred Edward Housman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-welsh-marches/
