When the lad for longing sighs, <br />Mute and dull of cheer and pale, <br />If at death's own door he lies, <br />Maiden, you can heal his ail. <br /> <br />Lovers' ills are all to buy: <br />The wan look, the hollow tone, <br />The hung head, the sunken eye, <br />You can have them for your own. <br /> <br />Buy them, buy them: eve and morn <br />Lovers' ills are all to sell. <br />Then you can lie down forlorn; <br />But the lover will be well.<br /><br />Alfred Edward Housman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-the-lad-for-longing-sighs/
