Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

A Shropshire Lad. 59. The Isle of Portland

The star-filled seas are smooth to-night
   From France to England strown;
Black towers above the Portland light
   The felon-quarried stone.

On yonder island, not to rise,
   Never to stir forth free,
Far from his folk a dead lad lies
   That once was friends with me.

Lie you easy, dream you light,
   And sleep you fast for aye;
And luckier may you find the night
   Than ever you found the day.

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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