even though I haven't been feeling maudlin enough to go about it properly, I've been perusing a.e. housman this afternoon. I'm not impressed by all his stuff, but this little number...well, strikes a chord:

Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all's over;
I only vex you the more I try.
All's wrong that ever I've done or said,
And nought to help it in this dull head:
Shake hands, here's luck, good-bye.

But if you come to a road where danger
Or guilt or anguish or shame's to share,
Be good to the lad that loves you true
And the soul that was born to die for you,
And whistle and I'll be there.

--XXX, from housman's "more poems"

on the lighter side, hoppy Easter ladies and gents!