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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

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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
World
Faces
Moon
Less
Therefore
Stills
Wise
Lad
Still
Trouble
Ill
Much
Since
Endure
Good
Sure
Luck
Would
Face
Train
Men
Chance
Sun

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I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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Could man be drunk for ever With liquor, love, or fights, Lief should I rouse at morning And lief lie down of nights. But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts, And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts.
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Happy bridegroom, Hesper brings All desired and timely things. All whom morning sends to roam, Hesper loves to lead them home. Home return who him behold, Child to mother, sheep to fold, Bird to nest from wandering wide: Happy bridegroom, seek your bride.
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And malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.
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Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
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When the journey's over/There'll be time enough to sleep.
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But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts. And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts
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I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.
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If a man will comprehend the richness and variety of the universe, and inspire his mind with a due measure of wonder and awe, he must contemplate the human intellect not only on its heights of genius but in its abysses of ineptitude.
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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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On Wenlock Edge the wood's in troubleHis forest fleece the Wrekin heavesThe wind it plies the saplings double, And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
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Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill
A. E. Housman
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In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
A. E. Housman
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He would not stay for me, and who can wonder? He would not stay for me to stand and gaze. I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder, And went with half my life about my ways.
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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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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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The rainy Pleiads wester Orion plunges prone, And midnight strikes and hastens, And I lie down alone.
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The thoughts of others Were light and fleeting, Of lovers' meeting Or luck or fame. Mine were of trouble, And mine were steady So I was ready When trouble came.
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Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go.
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