The Author A. E. Housman

A Shropshire Lad - LIX - 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.


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It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.