Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. 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. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.
I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one. - A. E. Housman
I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
- A. E. Housman
I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made. - A. E. Housman
I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again. - A. E. Housman
That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.
Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go. - A. E. Housman
Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go.
Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it. - A. E. Housman
Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
I am not a pessimist but a pejorist (as George Eliot said she was not an optimist but a meliorist); and that philosophy is founded on my observation … - A. E. Housman
I am not a pessimist but a pejorist (as George Eliot said she was not an optimist but a meliorist); and that philosophy is founded on my observation …
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,The lads that will die in their glory and never be old. - A. E. Housman
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
They say my verse is sad: no wonder; Its narrow measure spans Tears of eternity, and sorrow, Not mine. but man's. - A. E. Housman
They say my verse is sad: no wonder; Its narrow measure spans Tears of eternity, and sorrow, Not mine. but man's.
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 … - A. E. Housman
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 …
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