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By A. E. Housman
  

When I watch the living meet,

      And the moving pageant file

Warm and breathing through the street

      Where I lodge a little while,
If the heats of hate and lust

      In the house of flesh are strong,

Let me mind the house of dust

      Where my sojourn shall be long.
In the nation that is not

      Nothing stands that stood before;

There revenges are forgot,

      And the hater hates no more;
Lovers lying two and two

      Ask not whom they sleep beside,

And the bridegroom all night through

      Never turns him to the bride.