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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

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Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
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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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I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
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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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In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
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Experience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
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Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
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Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.
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Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure.
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