On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;The wind it plies the saplings double, And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
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.
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.
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 …
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 …
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.
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