Why, if 'tis dancing you would be, There's brisker pipes than poetry. Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God's ways to man. Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink For fellows whom it hurts to think: Look into the pewter pot To see the world as the world's not.
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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