A Shropshire Lad
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A Shropshire Lad
Hughley Steeple
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The vane on Hughley steeple Veers bright, a far-known sign, And there lie Hughley people And there lie friends of mine. Tall in their midst the tower Divides the shade and sun, And the clock strikes the hour And tells the time to none. To south the headstones cluster, The sunny mounds lie thick; The dead are more in muster At Hughley than the quick. North, for a soon-told number, Chill graves the sexton delves, And steeple-shadowed slumber The slayers of themselves. To north, to south, lie parted, With Hughley tower above, The kind, the single-hearted, The lads I used to love. And, south or north, ’tis only A choice of friends one knows, And I shall ne’er be lonely Asleep with these or those. |
 Now hollow fires burn out to black |
 Terence, this is stupid stuff |