Alfred Edward Housman (Альфред Эдвард Хаусман (Хаусмен))

More Poems. 20. Like Mine, the Veins of these that Slumber

Like mine, the veins of these that slumber
        Leapt once with dancing fires divine;
The blood of all this noteless number
        Ran red like mine.

How still, with every pulse in station,
        Frost in the founts that used to leap,
The thralls of night, the perished nation,
        How sound they sleep!

These too, these veins which life convulses,
        Wait but a while, shall cease to bound;
I with the ice in all my pulses
        Shall sleep as sound.

1. More Poems. 9. When Green Buds Hang in the Elm Like Dust
2. More Poems. 21. The World Goes None the Lamer
3. Last Poems. 27. The Sigh That Heaves the Grasses
4. Last Poems. 19. In Midnights of November
5. Additional Poems. 13. Oh Turn not in from Marching

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