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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.

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
Hear
Church
Sound
Stills
Still
Steeples
Come
Noisy
Good
Bells
People
Dumb

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You smile upon your friend to-day, To-day his ills are over You hearken to the lover's say, And happy is the lover. 'Tis late to hearken, late to smile, But better late than never: I shall have lived a little while Before I die for ever.
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Oh when I was in love with you, Then I was clean and brave, And miles around the wonder grew How well did I behave. And now the fancy passes by, And nothing will remain, And miles around they'll say that I Am quite myself again.
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
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Housman is one of my heroes and always has been. He was a detestable and miserable man. Arrogant, unspeakably lonely, cruel, and so on, but and absolutely marvellous minor poet, I think, and a great scholar.
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They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
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White in the moon the long road lies.
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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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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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Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
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Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
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Stone, steel, dominions pass, Faith too, no wonder So leave alone the grass That I am under.
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June suns, you cannot store them To warm the winter's cold, The lad that hopes for heaven Shall fill his mouth with mould.
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The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.
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Great literature should do some good to the reader: must quicken his perception though dull, and sharpen his discrimination though blunt, and mellow the rawness of his personal opinions.
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When the journey's over/There'll be time enough to sleep.
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And how am I to face the odds Of man's bedevilment and God's? I, a stranger and afraid In a world I never made.
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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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