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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.
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
Long
Soft
Way
Plays
Enchantress
Saying
Mays
Ways
Acquainted
Knew
Aftermath
Tell
Tune
Play
September
Needs
Tunes
More quotes by A. E. Housman
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
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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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White in the moon the long road lies.
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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
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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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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Look not in my eyes, for fear They mirror true the sight I see, And there you find your face too clear And love it and be lost like me.
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Ten thousand times I've done my best and all's to do again.
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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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The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn.
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Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
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Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck.
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Here dead lie we because we did not choose to live and shame the land from which we sprung. Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose but young men think it is, and we were young.
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That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.
A. E. Housman
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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The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
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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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Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.
A. E. Housman
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
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