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. Xl: Farewell To A Name And Number 1/28/2014
6. Xxxix: Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/28/2014
7. Hell's Gate 6/26/2015
8. When The Eye Of Day Is Shut 11/18/2015
9. Soldier from the wars returning 1/7/2016
10. Revolution 2/5/2016
11. Xvi: Spring Morning 1/28/2014
12. Xxi: The World Goes None The Lamer 1/28/2014
13. Xvii: Astronomy 1/28/2014
14. Xxxvi: Revolution 1/28/2014
15. Her Strong Enchantments Failing 11/25/2015
16. Xix: The Mill Stream Now That Noises Cease 1/28/2014
17. Xii: An Epitaph 1/28/2014
18. Xxviii: Now Dreary Dawns The Eastern Light 1/28/2014
19. Xxii: The Sloe Was Lost In Flower 1/28/2014
20. Vi: Lancer 1/28/2014
21. Xxxii: When I Would Muse In Boyhood 1/28/2014
22. The Nonsense Verse 1/28/2014
23. Xviii: The Rain It Streams On Stone And Hillock 1/28/2014
24. Xxxv: When First My Way To Fair I Took 1/28/2014
25. Xxiii: Crossing Alone The Nighted Ferry 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. Xlvii: For My Funeral 1/28/2014
30. Xvi: How Clear, How Lovely Bright 1/28/2014
31. Lx: Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 1/28/2014
32. Goodnight 11/28/2014
33. Xii: He Would Not Stay With Me And Who Can Wonder 1/28/2014
34. Xxvi: The Half-Moon Westers Low My Love 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.

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • 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

  • 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...'
    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

To An Athlete Dying Young

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has ...

Read the full of To An Athlete Dying Young


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.

[Report Error]