Words spoken silent, ears heard hollow
rustle the leaves, bury your sorrow
my dirt laid under your nails, whilst your hands stayed clean
for you played the deviser and keeper of dreams
time may pass, dragging with it with now and then
with what measures you mete, shall be measured to you again
A. E. Housman (1859–1936). A Shropshire Lad. 1896.
IF it chance your eye offend you,
Pluck it out, lad, and be sound:
’Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you,
And many a balsam grows on ground.
And if your hand or foot offend you,
Cut it off, lad, and be whole;
But play the man, stand up and end you,
When your sickness is your soul.
XLV. If it chance your eye offend you has been one of my favorite pieces for years now
— The End —