Stay, if you list, O passer by the way;
Yet night approaches; better not to stay.
I never sigh, nor flush, nor knit the brow,
Nor grieve to think how ill God made me, now.
Here, with one balm for many fevers found,
Whole of an ancient evil, I sleep sound.
More verses by Alfred Edward Housman
- Xxviii: Now Dreary Dawns The Eastern Light
- Xxiii: Crossing Alone The Nighted Ferry
- Xlvii: For My Funeral
- Xxii: The Sloe Was Lost In Flower
- Xxxv: When First My Way To Fair I Took