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Oh, 'tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around.

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
Jesting
Spins
Drinking
Dancing
Heavy
Dance
Around
World

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Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
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Good religious poetry... is likely to be most justly appreciated and most discriminately relished by the undevout.
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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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Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
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I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
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The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn.
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Tomorrow, more's the pity, Away we both must hie, To air the ditty and to earth I.
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Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out. Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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Tell me not here, it needs not saying, What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays, For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways.
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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.
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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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Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
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There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.
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Do not ever read books about versification: no poet ever learnt it that way. If you are going to be a poet, it will come to you naturally and you will pick up all you need from reading poetry.
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All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.
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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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Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
A. E. Housman
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They say my verse is sad: no wonder Its narrow measure spans Tears of eternity, and sorrow, Not mine. but man's.
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The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
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