Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

41. The Stinging Nettle 1/3/2003
42. Say, Lad, Have You Things To Do? 1/3/2003
43. The Fairies Break Their Dances 1/3/2003
44. The Winds Out Of The West Land Blow 1/3/2003
45. Loitering With A Vacant Eye 1/3/2003
46. When The Lad For Longing Sighs 1/3/2003
47. O Why Do You Walk (A Parody) 1/3/2003
48. Oh Fair Enough Are Sky And Plain 1/3/2003
49. The Merry Guide 1/3/2003
50. On Your Midnight Pallet Lying 1/3/2003
51. The Welsh Marches 1/3/2003
52. The Immortal Part 1/3/2003
53. Wake Not For The World-Heard Thunder 1/3/2003
54. Twice A Week The Winter Thorough 1/3/2003
55. Shot? So Quick, So Clean An Ending? 1/3/2003
56. When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow 1/3/2003
57. The Street Sounds To The Soldiers' Tread 1/3/2003
58. When I Watch The Living Meet 1/3/2003
59. The New Mistress 1/3/2003
60. There Pass The Careless People 1/3/2003
61. March 1/3/2003
62. The Lads In Their Hundreds 1/3/2003
63. Reveille 1/3/2003
64. The Recruit 1/3/2003
65. The Rainy Pleiads Wester 1/3/2003
66. Oh Stay At Home, My Lad 1/3/2003
67. Think No More, Lad 1/3/2003
68. Oh Who Is That Young Sinner 1/3/2003
69. On Moonlit Heath And Lonesome Bank 1/3/2003
70. It Nods And Curtseys And Recovers 1/3/2003
71. The Lent Lily 1/3/2003
72. Look Not In My Eyes, For Fear 1/3/2003
73. In Valleys Of Springs And Rivers 1/3/2003
74. On Wenlock Edge The Wood's In Trouble 1/3/2003
75. The Grizzly Bear 1/3/2003
76. The True Lover 1/3/2003
77. The Chestnut Casts His Flambeaux 1/3/2003
78. On The Idle Hill Of Summer 1/3/2003
79. Fragment Of A Greek Tragedy 12/31/2002
80. Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 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


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.

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