Tis time, I think, by Mystic town
By BW/AMW;
a poem-exchange with Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town by A.E. Housman

Tis time, I think, by Mystic town
The lolling ships should dip;
The linen masts curving round and down
Should puff and start to skip.

Summer soon drifts past loiterer’s here
Who line and range and hope;
So others split the waves and slip
Beneath the saltspray lope.

Oh vanish late on Mystic Way,
Heat that I never see;
Fingers rising faintly gray
From sidewalks fronting me.

AMW/BW/Whatever

Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
by A.E. Housman

’Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.

Spring will not wait the loiterer’s time
Who keeps so long away;
So others wear the broom and climb
The hedgerows heaped with may.

Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,
Gold that I never see;
Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge
That will not shower on me.