Quote

Into my hear an air that kills through yon far country blows what are those blue remembered hills what spires,what farms are those? that is the land of lost content I can see it shining plain the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.

A. E. Housman

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A. E. Housman
Age: 77 †
Born: 1859
Born: January 1
Died: 1936
Died: January 1
Classical Philologist
Classical Scholar
Poet
University Teacher
Writer
Worcs
A. E. Housman
Cannot
Blow
Highways
Come
Blue
Kills
Country
Air
Farms
Hear
Plain
Went
Hills
Land
Remembered
Spires
Happy
Content
Lad
Lost
Shining
Blows

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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.
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A moment's thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.
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Ten thousand times I've done my best and all's to do again.
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This is for all ill-treated fellows Unborn and unbegot, For them to read when they're in trouble And I am not.
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The house of delusions is cheap to build but drafty to live in.
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Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free.
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We now to peace and darkness And earth and thee restore Thy creature that thou madest And wilt cast forth no more.
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The bells they sound on Bredon, And still the steeples hum. Come all to church, good people- Oh, noisy bells, be dumb I hear you, I will come.
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His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.
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Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
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Who made the world I cannot tell 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.
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To justify God's ways to man.
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These, in the day when heaven was falling, The hour when earth's foundations fled, Followed their mercenary calling And took their wages and are dead. The British regulars who made the retreat from Mons, beginning August 24, 1914.
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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.
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I am not a pessimist but a pejorist (as George Eliot said she was not an optimist but a meliorist) and that philosophy is founded on my observation of the world, not on anything so trivial and irrelevant as personal history.
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Oh, 'tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around.
A. E. Housman
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The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
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Existence is not itself a good thing, that we should spend a lifetime securing its necessaries: a life spent, however victoriously, in securing the necessaries of life is no more than an elaborate furnishing and decoration of apartments for the reception of a guest who is never to come. Our business here is not to live, but to live happily.
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White in the moon the long road lies.
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'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.
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