Rue for A. E. Housman

To have one love for all your life
And it as dear as breath,
To lose the shape of what you loved
In distance, then in death:

Yes, what a funny world it is,
Where this is not the worst
That can occur—and daily does.
The mouth that did not thirst

For yours is dust, and you are not.
Yet heedless of all doom,
The children shout immortal joys,
Again the roses bloom.