A. E. Housman warned me
But could not prepare me for you.
How could I heed the sagacious,
When you’re too good to be true?

Here now I’m five and twenty,
Having once been twenty-two,
Despaired from giving my heart in vain,
And hopelessly smitten with you.

And now my heart is bleeding,
And this fantasy can’t be true.
I don’t think my age would matter,
Thirty-five or sixty-two,

My heart would be laid open
Hoping for mercy from you.
I’ve no “pounds and crowns and guineas,“
Only love can I give to you.

How could you be satisfied
Just to be cherished a lifetime through?
I wish I had more to offer,
Like I wish to remain with you.

You’re marvelous and irresistible,
The most amazing woman I e’er knew!
And though I know it’s hopeless,
I know that I’m in love with you.

Hear now my sighs a-plenty,
But take me in your arms anew.
I can hurt and bleed tomorrow,
But for now let me treasure you. . .

I’ve loved these wondrous weeks—
A spring flower that early grew
Ere the last frost of the season.
Eternally I will miss you.

How can I e’er love again
Without recalling loving you?
And so it will ne’er be bittersweet
But sour to live without you.
How shall I feel completed
Having lost heart and soul to you?