The mill-stream, now that noises cease,
Is all that does not hold its peace;
Under the bridge it murmurs by,
And here are night and hell and I.
Who made the world I cannot tell;
‘Tis made, and here I am in hell.
My hand, though now my knuckles bleed,
I never soiled with such a deed.
And so, no doubt, in time gone by,
Some have suffered more than I,
Who only spend the night alone
And strike my fist upon the stone.
(A E Housman)
More Poetry from A E Housman:
A E Housman Poems based on Topics: A. E. Housman Poems about World, A. E. Housman Poems about Night, A. E. Housman Poems about Time, A. E. Housman Poems about War & Peace, A. E. Housman Poems about Doubt & Skepticism, Hell- LXII: Terence, This is Stupid Stuff (A E Housman Poems)
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