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A. E Housman quotes

10 quotes from 1 of A. E Housman’s books on this site, book by book. Each quote is copied exactly from the book’s text in this site’s reader (the Project Gutenberg e-text named under each book) and links to its passage; when this page was built, every quote was checked word for word against that text. Quotes we could not find in a book we host are not listed.

A. E Housman’s books → · How RedLectern is built

A Shropshire Lad

From Project Gutenberg e-text #5720 (public domain in the USA).

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide.

IIRead in context →

Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those?

XLRead in context →

Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more.

IIRead in context →

Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears:

XIX. TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNGRead in context →

When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, "Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free."

XIIIRead in context →

Clay lies still, but blood's a rover; Breath's a ware that will not keep Up, lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep.

IV. REVEILLERead in context →

Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside, And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride.

XIIRead in context →

Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill, And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure, I'd face it as a wise man would, And train for ill and not for good.

LXIIRead in context →

But from my grave across my brow Plays no wind of healing now, And fire and ice within me fight Beneath the suffocating night.

XXXRead in context →

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.

XIX. TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNGRead in context →

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