FROM far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.

Now—for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart—
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.

Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind’s twelve quarters
I take my endless way.

A. E. Housman (1859–1936). A Shropshire Lad.

In a dream of a dream
I saw your eyes; touched your hair.
Prayed to the night:
stay the dawn and hold you there.

Still, through amber, the day rose;
cold and pale as forgotten regard.
Treasured dreams...
smashed to dust and scattered shards.

Sweet Nyx, I beseech thee:
the long, languid kiss of the dark.
Grant expiation
or push the thorn deeper to my heart.

At the end of days,
When all the secrets
Of the Earth are laid bare
And Death comes for the
Wicked and low or fair,
I would be with thee.

As blue shadows glide --
Softly -- over hills,
Vale and moldering keep;
Through forests, across
Rivers and the vast deep,
I would be with thee.

One last kiss goodnight,
My love, as lanterns fade
And we must leave these shores;
One last kiss, my love,
To last forevermore --
I would be with thee.