106 Quotes by A.E. Housman

Could man be drunk for ever      With liquor, love, or fights,Lief should I rouse at morning      And lief lie down of nights.But men at whiles are sober      And think by fits and starts,And if they think, they fasten      Their hands upon their hearts.

Oh fair enough are sky and plain,But I know fairer far:Those are as beautiful againThat in the water are;The pools and rivers wash so cleanThe trees and clouds and air,The like on earth was never seen,And oh that I were there.These are the thoughts I often thinkAs I stand gazing downIn act upon the cressy brinkTo strip and dive and drown;But in the golden-sanded brooksAnd azure meres I spyA silly lad that longs and looks And wishes he were I.

I to my perilsOf cheat and charmerCame clad in armourBy stars benign.Hope lies to mortalsAnd most believe her,But man's deceiver Was never mine.The thoughts of othersWere light and fleeting,Of lovers' meetingOr luck or fame.Mine were of trouble,And mine were steady;So I was readyWhen trouble came.

The year might age, and cloudyThe lessening day might close,But air of other summersBreathed from beyond the snows,And I had hope of those.They came and were and are notAnd come no more anew;And all the years and seasonsThat ever can ensueMust now be worse and few.So here's an end of roamingOn eves when autumn nighs:The ear too fondly listensFor summer's parting sighs,And then the heart replies.

Right you guessed the rising morrowAnd scorned to tread the mire you must:Dust's your wages, son of sorrow,But men may come to worse than dust. Souls undone, undoing others,-Long time since the tale began.You would not live to wrong your brothers:Oh lad, you died as fits a man.

The half-moon westers low, my love,And the wind brings up the rain;And wide apart lie we, my love,And seas between the twain.I know not if it rains, my love, In the land where you do lie;And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,You know no more than I.

They say my verse is sad: no wonder.Its narrow measure spansRue for eternity, and sorrowNot mine, but man'sThis is for all ill-treated fellowsUnborn and unbegot,For them to read when they're in troubleAnd I am not.

The stars have not dealt me the worst they could do:My pleasures are plenty, my troubles are two.But oh, my two troubles they reave me of rest,The brains in my head and the heart in my breast.Oh, grant me the ease that is granted so free,The birthright of multitudes, give it to me,That relish their victuals and rest on their bedWith flint in the bosom and guts in the head.

Oh, when I was in love with you,Then I was clean and brave,And miles around the wonder grewHow well did I behave.And now the fancy passes by,And nothing will remain,And miles around they'll say that IAm quite myself again.