White in the moon the long road lies, The moon stands blank above; White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love. Still hangs the hedge without a gust, Still, still the shadows stay: My feet upon the moonlit dust Pursue the ceaseless way. The world is round, so travellers tell, And straight through reach the track, Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well, The way will guide one back. But ere the circle homeward hies Far, far must it remove: White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love.
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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