A.E. Housman





The half-moon westers low, my love,  
   And the wind brings up the rain; 
And wide apart lie we, my love,  
   And seas between the twain.
 
I know not if it rains, my love,  
   In the land where you do lie; 
And oh, so sound you sleep, my love, 
   You know no more than I.