849. LII from A Shropshire Lad, by A.E. Housman

Far in a western brookland
  That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
  By pools I used to know.

There, in the windless night-time,
  The wanderer, marvelling why,
Halts on the bridge to hearken
  How soft the poplars sigh.

He hears: no more remembered
  In fields where I was known,
Here I lie down in London
  And turn to rest alone.

There, by the starlit fences,
  The wanderer halts and hears
My soul that lingers sighing
  Above the glimmering weirs.

Source: The Collected Poems of A. E. Housman

906. XII from More Poems, by A. E. Housman

I promise nothing: friends will part;
    All things may end, for all began;
And truth and singleness of heart
     Are mortal even as is man.

But this unlucky love should last
    When answered passions thin to air;
Eternal fate so deep has cast
     Its sure foundation of despair.

Source: Collected Poems

972. VII (from More Poems), by A.E. Housman

Stars, I have seen them fall,
But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
And still the sea is salt.

Source: Collected Poems of A. E. Housman