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. 33. On Forelands High in Heaven
2. Last Poems. 22. The Sloe Was Lost in Flower
3. Last Poems. 39. When Summer’s End Is Nighing
4. A Shropshire Lad. 56. The Day of Battle
5. More Poems. 46. The Land of Biscay

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