THE opening verse of A E Housman's poem catches the fickle May weather with memorable images, but the young man's defiance of mortality is also described in a candid and sympathetic way.

from THE CHESTNUT CASTS HIS FLAMBEAUX

The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers

Stream from the hawthorn in the wind away,

The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.

Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.

There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,

One season ruined of ur little store.

May will be fine next year as like as not:

Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.

We for a certainty were not the first

Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled

Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed

Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.

It is in truth iniquity on high

To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,

And mar the merriment as you and I

Fare on our long fool's errand to the grave.

The troubles of our proud and angry dust

Are from eternity, and shall not fail.

Bear them we can, and if we can we must.

Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.