But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now, And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night. - Alfred Edward Housman

We for a certainty are not the first Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.

And how am I to face the odds Of man’s bedevilment and God’s? I, a stranger and afraid In a world I never made.

When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, "The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; 'Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue." And I am two-and-twenty And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.