Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Quotes

  • ''“You smile upon your friend to-day,
    To-day his ills are over;
    You hearken to the lovers say,
    And happy is the lover.

    Tis late to hearken, late to smile,
    But better late than never:
    I shall have lived a little while
    Before I die for ever.” ''
    A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad
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  • ''“Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.” ''
    A.E. Housman
  • ''“The half-moon westers low, my love,
    And the wind brings up the rain;
    And wide apart lie we, my love,
    And seas between the twain.

    I know not if it rains, my love,
    In the land where you do lie;
    And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,
    You know no more than I.” ''
    A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad
  • ''“Into my hear an air that kills
    through yon far country blows
    what are those blue remembered hills
    what spires,what farms are those?
    that is the land of lost content
    I can see it shining plain
    the happy highways where I went
    and cannot come again.” ''
    A.E. Housman
  • ''“To stand up straight and tread the turning mill,
    To lie flat and know nothing and be still,
    Are the two trades of man; and which is worse
    I know not, but I know that both are ill.” ''
    A.E. Housman, More Poems
  • ''“Here dead lie we 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.”''
    A.E. Housman

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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

Eight O'Clock

He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.

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