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Tomorrow, more's the pity, Away we both must hie, To air the ditty and to earth I.

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
Must
Ditty
Pity
Air
Tomorrow
Away
Earth

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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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And malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.
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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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With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipped maiden And many a lightfoot lad.
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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 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.
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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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 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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There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.
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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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Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
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Give me a land of boughs in leaf A land of trees that stand Where trees are fallen there is grief I love no leafless land.
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White in the moon the long road lies.
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I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
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