From far, from eve and morning And yon twelve-winded sky, The stuff of life to knit me Blew hither: here am I. (A. E. Housman, "")
And sharp the link of life will snap, And dead on air will stand Heels that held up as straight a chap As treads upon the land. (A. E. Housman, "")
There, like the wind through woods in riot, Through him the gale of life blew high The tree of man was never quiet Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I. (A. E. Housman)
Here dead lie we because we did not choose to live and shame the land from which we sprung. Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose; but young men think it is, and we were young. (A. E. Housman)