Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

More Poems. 19. The Mill-Stream, Now that Noises Cease

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.

1. Last Poems. 22. The Sloe Was Lost in Flower
2. More Poems. 21. The World Goes None the Lamer
3. Last Poems. 13. The Deserter
4. Last Poems. 16. Spring Morning
5. More Poems. 14. The Farms of Home Lie Lost in Even

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