A Shropshire Lad, XI
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A. E. Housman
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On your midnight pallet lying, Listen, and undo the door: Lads that waste the light in sighing In the dark should sigh no more; Night should ease a lover’s sorrow; Therefore, since I go to-morrow, Pity me before. In the land to which I travel, The far dwelling, let me say— Once, if here the couch is gravel, In a kinder bed I lay, And the breast the darnel smothers Rested once upon another’s When it was not clay.
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