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A. E. Housman: From far, from eve and morning
From far, from eve and morning And yon twelve-winded sky, The stuff of life to knit me Blew hither: here am I.Now— for a breath I tarry Nor yet disperse apart— Take my hand quick and tell…A. E. Housman: Hughley Steeple
Hughley SteepleThe vane on Hughley steeple Veers bright, a far-known sign, And there lie Hughley people, And there lie friends of mine. Tall in their midst the tower Divides the shade and…A. E. Housman: I Hoed and trenched and weeded,
I Hoed and trenched and weeded, And took the flowers to fair: I brought them home unheeded; The hue was not the wear.So up and down I sow them For lads like me to find, When I shall lie…A. E. Housman: If it chance your eye offend you,
If it chance your eye offend you, Pluck it out, lad, and be sound: 'Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you, And many a balsam grows on ground.And if your hand or foot offend you,…A. E. Housman: If truth in hearts that perish
If truth in hearts that perish Could move the powers on high, I think the love I bear you Should make you not to die.Sure, sure, if stedfast meaning, If single thought could save, The…A. E. Housman: In my own shire, if I was sad
In my own shire, if I was sad Homely comforters I had: The earth, because my heart was sore, Sorrowed for the son she bore; And standing hills, long to remain, Shared their short-lived…A Shropshire Lad
A. E. Housman1919ContentsIntroduction1887Loveliest of trees, the cherry nowThe RecruitReveilleOh see how thick the goldcup flowersWhen the lad for longing sighs,When smoke stood up from…A. E. Housman: Into my heart an air that kills
Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those?That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain…A. E. Housman: "Is my team ploughing,
"Is my team ploughing, That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?"Ay, the horses trample, The harness jingles now; No change though you lie under The land…A. E. Housman: It nods and curtseys and recovers
It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above, The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love.The nettle nods, the wind blows over, The man, he does not…Trending
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