Into my heart an air that kills

This poem sums up the feelings of returning ‘home’ but then again, never being able to return home. A. E. Housman grew up in Shropshire, a neighbouring county to Herefordshire, where I spent my childhood. Could this poem be the lament of any expat or perhaps more generally, anyone who has left the place where they grew up?

Into my heart an air that kills
   From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
   What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
   I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
   And cannot come again.

 From A Shropshire Lad by A.E. Housman

Embed from Getty Images
View from Symond’s Yat Rock, Herefordshire

About susancarey

Angela writes using pseudonym, Susan Carey. She has dual nationality, GB/NL and lives in Amsterdam. Susan has had short fiction published on multiple platforms and was a runner-up in the 2018 and 2017 Casket of Fictional Delights Flash Competitions. Every year she is crazy enough to take part in Nanowrimo, and has done so successfully since 2009. Her writing has also been published and performed by amongst others; Mslexia, Liars’ League, Reflex Fiction, the Casket and of course the wonderful Writers Abroad. She has a love hate relationship with her adopted hometown and often dreams of living in a thatched cottage, far from the madding crowd.
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3 Responses to Into my heart an air that kills

  1. Jany says:

    I spent part of my chlidhood in Shropshire, and this poem is still one I have always intended to read from start to finish and have never got round to as yet. I love the words “the land of lost content.” That about sums up for me the feeling of longing I sometmes have for England, whilst being aware of the fact that it is an England that doesn`t exist any more. Perfectly put.

    Like

  2. susancarey says:

    Thanks for commenting, Jany. Housman does sum it up perfectly, doesn’t he. Nice to know one is not alone in those feelings.

    Like

  3. Pingback: Oh, to be in England now that Spring is here; | Amsterdam Oriole

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