Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

1. Xv: 'Tis Five Years Since, An End Said I 1/28/2014
2. Xxvi: Good Creatures Do You Love Your Lives 1/28/2014
3. Xx: The Night Is Freezing Fast 1/28/2014
4. Xvii: The Stars Have Not Dealt Me The Worst They Could Do 1/28/2014
5. Xxxix: Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/28/2014
6. Hell's Gate 6/26/2015
7. When The Eye Of Day Is Shut 11/18/2015
8. Her Strong Enchantments Failing 11/25/2015
9. Soldier from the wars returning 1/7/2016
10. Revolution 2/5/2016
11. Xxi: The World Goes None The Lamer 1/28/2014
12. Xvii: Astronomy 1/28/2014
13. Xxxvi: Revolution 1/28/2014
14. Xxxv: When First My Way To Fair I Took 1/28/2014
15. Xl: Farewell To A Name And Number 1/28/2014
16. Xxiii: Crossing Alone The Nighted Ferry 1/28/2014
17. Xlvii: For My Funeral 1/28/2014
18. Xxii: The Sloe Was Lost In Flower 1/28/2014
19. Xxxii: When I Would Muse In Boyhood 1/28/2014
20. Xvi: Spring Morning 1/28/2014
21. The Nonsense Verse 1/28/2014
22. Xviii: The Rain It Streams On Stone And Hillock 1/28/2014
23. Xix: The Mill Stream Now That Noises Cease 1/28/2014
24. Xii: An Epitaph 1/28/2014
25. Xxviii: Now Dreary Dawns The Eastern Light 1/28/2014
26. Xxii: R L S 1/28/2014
27. I: Easter Hymn 12/17/2014
28. A Shropshire Lad, Ii 2/18/2015
29. Vi: Lancer 1/28/2014
30. Lx: Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 1/28/2014
31. Goodnight 11/28/2014
32. Xvi: How Clear, How Lovely Bright 1/28/2014
33. Xxvi: The Half-Moon Westers Low My Love 1/28/2014
34. Xii: He Would Not Stay With Me And Who Can Wonder 1/28/2014
35. When I Came Last To Ludlow 1/3/2003
36. Westward On The High-Hilled Plains 1/3/2003
37. This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past 1/3/2003
38. Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/3/2003
39. Oh, See How Thick The Goldcup Flowers 1/3/2003
40. The Isle Of Portland 1/3/2003

Comments about Alfred Edward Housman

  • Ian K (7/23/2017 12:43:00 PM)

    The master of melancholy! Housman was in fact a rather embittered but brilliant academic and a homosexual at a time when it was not only illegal but something that had for most to remain repressed. I suppose therefore that this informs all his work and is fairly obvious, in hindsight, in some of the poems at least.

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  • Jeanann Kerr (8/13/2013 8:19:00 PM)

    Does anyone know the title of Housman's poem cited in The Walkabout? It is a lovely poem but I can't find it in Bartlett's. Thanks. Ms. Kerr

  • Sankaran Ayya (2/2/2012 7:31:00 AM)

    poetry should appeal to emotions rather than to the intellect
    Housman's golden words, poetry writers should appreciate and follow
    as cardinal principle
    --KAVIN CHARALAN

  • Mark Adams (1/9/2012 6:05:00 PM)

    From a biography I read on Housman (I sorry I don't recall the title or author) , Housman was believed to have possibly been homosexual, and was suspected by some family members as being so. If this was truly the case, I believe it may put different light on the point of few of some of his poems.

  • Maria Gough (9/26/2006 11:41:00 AM)

    Thank you for your daily poem!

  • Richard Stivelman (6/17/2006 1:30:00 PM)

    Thanks for all the Housman. I believe, however, that you have a 'typo' in the poem 'Look Not In my Eyes'. I believe it shoud read '...for fear they (not 'thy') mirror true...'
    Best
    Dick Stivelman

  • Artie Thayer (10/4/2003 6:16:00 AM)

    Thank you for making this poem available. In the movie, Out of Africa, Karen Blitzen reads from a book of poems. The title is partially obliterated, but I could see Hous... and assumed Houseman. I was able to find it on your site. What a fine poem. Thanks again. - artie

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

Eight O'Clock

He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.

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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