Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

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. Additional Poems. 11a. They Shall Have Breath that Never Were
2. Last Poems. 21. The Fairies Break Their Dances
3. Last Poems. 19. In Midnights of November
4. More Poems. 29. From the Wash the Laundress Sends
5. Additional Poems. 16. Some Can Gaze and not Be Sick

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