Posts

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

A. E. Housman

His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.

A. E. Housman

Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go.

A. E. Housman

Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man’s deceiver Was never mine.

A. E. Housman

But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts. And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts

A. E. Housman

In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.

A. E. Housman

Good night; ensured release, Imperishable peace, Have these for yours. * While sky and sea and land And earth’s foundations stand And heaven endures. *These three lines are on the tablet over Housman’s grave in the parish church at Ludlow, Shropshire, England

A. E. Housman

Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free.

A. E. Housman

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck.

A. E. Housman

Tis spring; come out to ramble
The hilly brakes around,
For under thorn and bramble
About the hollow ground
The primroses are found.
And there’s the windflower chilly
With all the winds at play,
And there’s the Lenten lily
That has not long to stay
And dies on Easter day.

A. E. Housman

And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.

A. E. Housman

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they’re taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

A. E. Housman

The troubles of our proud and angry dust are from eternity, and shall not fail. Bear them we can, and if we can we must. Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

A. E. Housman

Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill, And while the sun and moon endure Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure, I’d face it as a wise man would, And train for ill and not for good.

A. E. Housman

This is for all ill-treated fellows Unborn and unbegot, For them to read when they’re in trouble And I am not.

A. E. Housman

They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat; They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up.

A. E. Housman

They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.

A. E. Housman

I think that to transfuse emotion – not to transmit thought but to set up in the reader’s sense a vibration corresponding to what was felt by the writer – is the peculiar function of poetry

A. E. Housman

Here dead lie we because we did not choose to live and shame the land from which we sprung. Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose; but young men think it is, and we were young.

A. E. Housman

Look not in my eyes, for fear
They mirror true the sight I see,
And there you find your face too clear
And love it and be lost like me.

A. E. Housman