You smile upon your friend to-day, To-day his ills are over; You hearken to the lover's 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.
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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