A Shropshire Lad/The Isle of Portland

by Alfred Edward Housman

LIX

THE ISLE OF PORTLAND

The star-filled seas are smooth to-nightFrom France to England strown;Black towers above the Portland lightThe felon-quarried stone.

On yonder island, not to rise,Never to stir forth free,Far from his folk a dead lad liesThat once was friends with me.

Lie you easy, dream you light,And sleep you fast for aye;And luckier may you find the nightThan ever you found the day.

 

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