Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

81. Twice A Week The Winter Thorough 1/3/2003
82. Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 1/3/2003
83. The Lent Lily 1/3/2003
84. Hughley Steeple 1/3/2003
85. The Day Of Battle 1/3/2003
86. Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying 1/3/2003
87. Others, I Am Not The First 1/3/2003
88. Ho, Everyone That Thirsteth 1/3/2003
89. The Laws Of God, The Laws Of Man 1/3/2003
90. Stars 1/3/2003
91. Oh, When I Was In Love With You 1/3/2003
92. In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad 1/3/2003
93. Bredon Hill 1/3/2003
94. If By Chance Your Eye Offend You 1/3/2003
95. Far In A Western Brookland 1/3/2003
96. I Hoed And Trenched And Weeded 1/3/2003
97. 1887 1/3/2003
98. If Truth In Hearts That Perish 1/3/2003
99. Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries 1/3/2003
100. With Rue My Heart Is Laden 1/3/2003
101. Eight O'Clock 1/3/2003
102. Diffugere Nives 1/3/2003
103. Could Man Be Drunk Forever 1/3/2003
104. Is My Team Ploughing 1/3/2003
105. Farewell To Barn And Stack And Tree 1/3/2003
106. You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day 1/3/2003
107. From Far, From Eve And Morning 1/3/2003
108. Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff 1/3/2003
109. Into My Heart An Air That Kills 1/3/2003
110. Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now 1/3/2003
111. When I Was One-And-Twenty 1/3/2003
112. The Carpenter's Son 1/3/2003
113. Along The Field As We Came By 12/31/2002
114. Be Still, My Soul, Be Still 1/3/2003
115. Here Dead We Lie 12/24/2003
116. To An Athlete Dying Young 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

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

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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