Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man's deceiver Was never mine. - 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.

Could man be drunk for ever With liquor, love, or fights, Lief should I rouse at mornings And lief lie down of nights. But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts, And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts.

The rainy Pleiads wester, Orion plunges prone, The stroke of midnight ceases, And I lie down alone.