Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

1. You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day 1/3/2003
2. Xxxvi: Revolution 1/28/2014
3. Xxxv: When First My Way To Fair I Took 1/28/2014
4. Xxxix: Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/28/2014
5. Xxxii: When I Would Muse In Boyhood 1/28/2014
6. Xxviii: Now Dreary Dawns The Eastern Light 1/28/2014
7. Xxvi: The Half-Moon Westers Low My Love 1/28/2014
8. Xxvi: Good Creatures Do You Love Your Lives 1/28/2014
9. Xxiii: Crossing Alone The Nighted Ferry 1/28/2014
10. Xxii: The Sloe Was Lost In Flower 1/28/2014
11. Xxii: R L S 1/28/2014
12. Xxi: The World Goes None The Lamer 1/28/2014
13. Xx: The Night Is Freezing Fast 1/28/2014
14. Xviii: The Rain It Streams On Stone And Hillock 1/28/2014
15. Xvii: The Stars Have Not Dealt Me The Worst They Could Do 1/28/2014
16. Xvii: Astronomy 1/28/2014
17. Xvi: Spring Morning 1/28/2014
18. Xvi: How Clear, How Lovely Bright 1/28/2014
19. Xv: 'Tis Five Years Since, An End Said I 1/28/2014
20. Xlvii: For My Funeral 1/28/2014
21. Xl: Farewell To A Name And Number 1/28/2014
22. Xix: The Mill Stream Now That Noises Cease 1/28/2014
23. Xii: He Would Not Stay With Me And Who Can Wonder 1/28/2014
24. Xii: An Epitaph 1/28/2014
25. With Rue My Heart Is Laden 1/3/2003
26. White In The Moon The Long Road Lies 1/3/2003
27. When The Lad For Longing Sighs 1/3/2003
28. When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow 1/3/2003
29. When I Watch The Living Meet 1/3/2003
30. When I Was One-And-Twenty 1/3/2003
31. When I Came Last To Ludlow 1/3/2003
32. Westward On The High-Hilled Plains 1/3/2003
33. Wake Not For The World-Heard Thunder 1/3/2003
34. Vi: Lancer 1/28/2014
35. Twice A Week The Winter Thorough 1/3/2003
36. To An Athlete Dying Young 1/3/2003
37. Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/3/2003
38. This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past 1/3/2003
39. Think No More, Lad 1/3/2003
40. There Pass The Careless People 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Alfred Edward Housman

Here Dead We Lie

Here dead we lie
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.

Read the full of Here Dead We Lie


Wake: the silver dusk returning
Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
Strands upon the eastern rims.

Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
Trampled to the floor it spanned,
And the tent of night in tatters
Straws the sky-pavilioned land.

[Hata Bildir]