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. On Wenlock Edge The Wood's In Trouble 1/3/2003
85. Tell Me Not Here, It Needs Not Saying 1/3/2003
86. Look Not In My Eyes, For Fear 1/3/2003
87. Others, I Am Not The First 1/3/2003
88. Ho, Everyone That Thirsteth 1/3/2003
89. Stars 1/3/2003
90. In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad 1/3/2003
91. Bredon Hill 1/3/2003
92. Diffugere Nives 1/3/2003
93. Far In A Western Brookland 1/3/2003
94. You Smile Upon Your Friend To-Day 1/3/2003
95. I Hoed And Trenched And Weeded 1/3/2003
96. Oh, When I Was In Love With You 1/3/2003
97. 1887 1/3/2003
98. If By Chance Your Eye Offend You 1/3/2003
99. If Truth In Hearts That Perish 1/3/2003
100. The Laws Of God, The Laws Of Man 1/3/2003
101. From Far, From Eve And Morning 1/3/2003
102. Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff 1/3/2003
103. With Rue My Heart Is Laden 1/3/2003
104. Could Man Be Drunk Forever 1/3/2003
105. Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries 1/3/2003
106. Eight O'Clock 1/3/2003
107. Is My Team Ploughing 1/3/2003
108. The Carpenter's Son 1/3/2003
109. Farewell To Barn And Stack And Tree 1/3/2003
110. Into My Heart An Air That Kills 1/3/2003
111. Loveliest Of Trees, The Cherry Now 1/3/2003
112. When I Was One-And-Twenty 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

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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