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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
Play
September
Needs
Tunes
Long
Soft
Way
Plays
Enchantress
Saying
Mays
Ways
Acquainted
Knew
Aftermath
Tell
Tune

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I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
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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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If a man will comprehend the richness and variety of the universe, and inspire his mind with a due measure of wonder and awe, he must contemplate the human intellect not only on its heights of genius but in its abysses of ineptitude.
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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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Earth and high heaven are fixed of old and founded strong.
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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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Good religious poetry... is likely to be most justly appreciated and most discriminately relished by the undevout.
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A moment's thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.
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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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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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Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
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