Oh, when I see the blossoms blown In fields from spring to summer grow, I think how man is all alone, Though trees and flowers are all aglow.

The petals swirl, the branches sway, Where sunbeams dance, so quick and bright, But man must tread his lonely way, For nature knows no real insight.

Yet still I find in hill and grove, A glimmer of the heart’s soft sigh; A gentle wave as it does rove, Reminds me of what it means to cry.

• AE Housman