A Shropshire Lad is not A poem, it is a collection (the intelligentsia call it a cycle) of over 60 individual poems which, as far as I have so far been able to tell, are all written as if by a young man from that county. Mayhap I've not yet read sufficient, but what I have read so far seem rather melancholic. Like this, possibly one of the better known:
Into my heart an air that killsI don't think I have ever been to Shropshire, which is rather a pity as I understand it is a county of glorious countryside.
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.