A. E. Housman (1859–1936). A Shropshire Lad. 1896.
LIII. The lad came to the door at night
The True LoverT
When lovers crown their vows,
And whistled soft and out of sight
In shadow of the boughs.
Henceforth, my love, for aye;
So take me in your arms a space
Before the east is grey.
I shall not find a bride,
And you shall be the first and last
I ever lay beside.’
Her heart to his she laid;
Light was the air beneath the sky
But dark under the shade.
Seems not to rise and fall,
And here upon my bosom prest
There beats no heart at all?’
You should have felt it then;
But since for you I stopped the clock
It never goes again.’
Wet from your neck on mine?
What is it falling on my lips,
My lad, that tastes of brine?’
For when the knife has slit
The throat across from ear to ear
’Twill bleed because of it.’
But dark below the boughs,
The still air of the speechless night,
When lovers crown their vows.