Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

41. Oh, See How Thick The Goldcup Flowers 1/3/2003
42. Oh, When I Was In Love With You 1/3/2003
43. On Moonlit Heath And Lonesome Bank 1/3/2003
44. On The Idle Hill Of Summer 1/3/2003
45. On Wenlock Edge The Wood's In Trouble 1/3/2003
46. On Your Midnight Pallet Lying 1/3/2003
47. Others, I Am Not The First 1/3/2003
48. Reveille 1/3/2003
49. Revolution 2/5/2016
50. Say, Lad, Have You Things To Do? 1/3/2003
51. Shot? So Quick, So Clean An Ending? 1/3/2003
52. Soldier from the wars returning 1/7/2016
53. Stars 1/3/2003
54. Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying 1/3/2003
55. Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff 1/3/2003
56. The Carpenter's Son 1/3/2003
57. The Chestnut Casts His Flambeaux 1/3/2003
58. The Day Of Battle 1/3/2003
59. The Fairies Break Their Dances 1/3/2003
60. The Grizzly Bear 1/3/2003
61. The Immortal Part 1/3/2003
62. The Isle Of Portland 1/3/2003
63. The Lads In Their Hundreds 1/3/2003
64. The Laws Of God, The Laws Of Man 1/3/2003
65. The Lent Lily 1/3/2003
66. The Merry Guide 1/3/2003
67. The New Mistress 1/3/2003
68. The Nonsense Verse 1/28/2014
69. The Rainy Pleiads Wester 1/3/2003
70. The Recruit 1/3/2003
71. The Stinging Nettle 1/3/2003
72. The Street Sounds To The Soldiers' Tread 1/3/2003
73. The True Lover 1/3/2003
74. The Welsh Marches 1/3/2003
75. The Winds Out Of The West Land Blow 1/3/2003
76. There Pass The Careless People 1/3/2003
77. Think No More, Lad 1/3/2003
78. This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past 1/3/2003
79. Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/3/2003
80. To An Athlete Dying Young 1/3/2003
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

The New Mistress

"Oh, sick I am to see you, will you never let me be?
You may be good for something, but you are not good for me.
Oh, go where you are wanted, for you are not wanted here.
And that was all the farewell when I parted from my dear.

"I will go where I am wanted, to a lady born and bred
Who will dress me free for nothing in a uniform of red;
She will not be sick to see me if I only keep it clean:
I will go where I am wanted for a soldier of the Queen.

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