When the lad for longing sighs,
Mute and dull of cheer and pale,
If at death’s own door he lies,
Maiden, you can heal his ail.
Lovers’ ills are all to buy:
The wan look, the hollow tone,
The hung head, the sunken eye,
You can have them for your own.
Buy them, buy them: eve and morn
Lovers’ ills are all to sell.
Then you can lie down forlorn;
But the lover will be well.
(A. E. Housman)
More Poetry from A. E. Housman:
A. E. Housman Poems based on Topics: Love, Death & Dying, Lies & Deceit- LXII: Terence, This is Stupid Stuff (A E Housman Poems)
- IX: The Chestnut Casts His Flambeaux and the Flowers (A E Housman Poems)
- XIII: The Deserter (A E Housman Poems)
- Diffugere Nives (A E Housman Poems)
- I:1887 (A E Housman Poems)
- IX: On Moonlit Heath and Lonesome Bank (A E Housman Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Love Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Lies & Deceit PoemsBased on Keywords: sunken, ail