Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

1. 1887 1/3/2003
2. A Shropshire Lad, Ii 2/18/2015
3. Along The Field As We Came By 12/31/2002
4. As Through The Wild Green Hills Of Wyre 1/3/2003
5. Be Still, My Soul, Be Still 1/3/2003
6. Bredon Hill 1/3/2003
7. Bring, In This Timeless Grave To Throw 1/3/2003
8. Could Man Be Drunk Forever 1/3/2003
9. Diffugere Nives 1/3/2003
10. Eight O'Clock 1/3/2003
11. Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries 1/3/2003
12. Far In A Western Brookland 1/3/2003
13. Farewell To Barn And Stack And Tree 1/3/2003
14. Fragment Of A Greek Tragedy 12/31/2002
15. From Far, From Eve And Morning 1/3/2003
16. Goodnight 11/28/2014
17. Hell's Gate 6/26/2015
18. Her Strong Enchantments Failing 11/25/2015
19. Here Dead We Lie 12/24/2003
20. Ho, Everyone That Thirsteth 1/3/2003
21. Hughley Steeple 1/3/2003
22. I Hoed And Trenched And Weeded 1/3/2003
23. I: Easter Hymn 12/17/2014
24. If By Chance Your Eye Offend You 1/3/2003
25. If Truth In Hearts That Perish 1/3/2003
26. In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad 1/3/2003
27. In Valleys Of Springs And Rivers 1/3/2003
28. Into My Heart An Air That Kills 1/3/2003
29. Is My Team Ploughing 1/3/2003
30. It Nods And Curtseys And Recovers 1/3/2003
31. Loitering With A Vacant Eye 1/3/2003
32. Look Not In My Eyes, For Fear 1/3/2003
33. Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now 1/3/2003
34. Lx: Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 1/28/2014
35. March 1/3/2003
36. Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 1/3/2003
37. O Why Do You Walk (A Parody) 1/3/2003
38. Oh Fair Enough Are Sky And Plain 1/3/2003
39. Oh Stay At Home, My Lad 1/3/2003
40. Oh Who Is That Young Sinner 1/3/2003

Comments about Alfred Edward Housman

  • Ted G (6/24/2018 8:58:00 AM)

    Not a poetry related question, but possibly someone here can help me. I seem to remember reading a short bit by Housman about seeing tears in his father's eyes for the first time upon seeing the black bordered newspaper the day Queen Victoria died. Am I attributing my memory to the wrong author?

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  • 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.

  • 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

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

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.

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