Oh, Housman, you old trick. Look what you've done. And for what? A treeful of butterflies.
They'll be the end of you.
Somewhere between autumn and spring lies your downfall.
The snow is retreating, and the hedge maze isn't tall enough to get lost in. See the tiny pink blooms? They will open soon, and your time will be up.
Swing, swing . . .
I dreamt of you, and the old woman in the water. Who knew, who knew? She did at the last. And so will you.