Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

81. Fragment Of A Greek Tragedy 12/31/2002
82. Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 1/3/2003
83. Hughley Steeple 1/3/2003
84. The Day Of Battle 1/3/2003
85. Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying 1/3/2003
86. The Chestnut Casts His Flambeaux 1/3/2003
87. Others, I Am Not The First 1/3/2003
88. Stars 1/3/2003
89. Oh, When I Was In Love With You 1/3/2003
90. In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad 1/3/2003
91. Bredon Hill 1/3/2003
92. If By Chance Your Eye Offend You 1/3/2003
93. Ho, Everyone That Thirsteth 1/3/2003
94. Far In A Western Brookland 1/3/2003
95. I Hoed And Trenched And Weeded 1/3/2003
96. 1887 1/3/2003
97. Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries 1/3/2003
98. If Truth In Hearts That Perish 1/3/2003
99. The Laws Of God, The Laws Of Man 1/3/2003
100. You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day 1/3/2003
101. With Rue My Heart Is Laden 1/3/2003
102. Eight O'Clock 1/3/2003
103. Diffugere Nives 1/3/2003
104. Could Man Be Drunk Forever 1/3/2003
105. Is My Team Ploughing 1/3/2003
106. Farewell To Barn And Stack And Tree 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. When I Was One-And-Twenty 1/3/2003
111. Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now 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
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.

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