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A.E. Housman
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A.E. Housman
(1859–1936)
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All poems by A.E. Housman on Kalliope, ordered alphabetically by title.
1
1887
A
A.J.J.
Along the field as we came by
As I gird on for fighting
Ask me no more, for fear I should reply
As through the wild green hills of Wyre
Astronomy
Atys
B
Because I liked you better
Bells in tower at evening toll
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle
Bredon Hill
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw
By shores and woods and steeples
C
Could man be drunk for ever
Crossing alone the nighted ferry
D
Delight it is in youth and May
Diffugere Nives
E
Easter Hymn
Eight O’Clock
Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries
Epithalamium
F
Farewell to a name and a number
Farewell to barn and stack and tree
Far in a western brookland
Far known to sea and shore
For My Funeral
For these of old the trader
From far, from eve and morning
From the wash the laundress sends
G
Give me a land of boughs in leaf
Grenadier
H
Half-way, for one commandment broken
Hell Gate
He looked at me with eyes I thought
Here are the skies, the planets seven
Here dead lie we because we did not choose
Her strong enchantments failing
He, standing hushed, a pace or two apart
He would not stay for me; and who can wonder?
Ho, everyone that thirsteth
How clear, how lovely bright
Hughley Steeple
I
I Counsel You Beware
I did not lose my heart in summer’s even
If it chance your eye offend you
If truth in hearts that perish
I hoed and trenched and weeded
I lay me down and slumber
Illic Jacet
In midnights of November
In my own shire, if I was sad
In the morning, in the morning
Into my heart an air that kills
In valleys green and still
In valleys of springs of rivers
I promise nothing: friends will part
I shall not die for you
Is my team ploughing
It is no gift I tender
It nods and curtseys and recovers
I to my perils
I wake from dreams and turning
L
Lancer
Like mine, the veins of these that slumber
Loitering with a vacant eye
Look not in my eyes, for fear
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
M
March
Morning up the eastern stair
My dreams are of a field afar
N
New Year’s Eve
Now dreary dawns the eastern light
Now hollow fires burn out to black
Now to her lap the incestuous earth
O
Oh fair enough are sky and plain
Oh is it the jar of nations
Oh on my breast in days hereafter
Oh see how thick the goldcup flowers
Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough
Oh turn not in from marching
Oh were he and I together
Oh, when I was in love with you
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
On forelands high in heaven
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
On the idle hill of summer
On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble
On your midnight pallet lying
Others, I am not the first
P
Parta Quies
R
Reveille
Revolution
R.L.S.
S
Say, lad, have you things to do?
Shake hands, we shall never be friends; give over
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
Sinner’s Rue
Smooth between sea and land
Soldier from the wars returning
Some can gaze and not be sick
Spring Morning
Stars, I have seen them fall
Stay, if you list, O passer by the way
Stone, steel, dominions pass
T
Tarry, delight; so seldom met
Tell me not here, it needs not saying
Terence, this is stupid stuff
The Carpenter’s Son
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
The Culprit
The Day of Battle
The Defeated
The Deserter
The fairies break their dances
The farms of home lie lost in even
The half-moon westers low, my love
The Immortal Part
Their seed the sowers scatter
The Isle of Portland
The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair
The Land of Biscay
The laws of God, the laws of man
The Lent Lily
The Merry Guide
The mill-stream, now that noises cease
The New Mistress
The night is freezing fast
The Olive
The Oracles
The orchards half the way
The rain, it streams on stone and hillock
The rainy Pleiads wester
The Recruit
There pass the careless people
The Sage to the Young Man
The sigh that heaves the grasses
The sloe was lost in flower
The stars have not dealt me the worst they could do
The street sounds to the soldiers’ tread
The True Lover
The weeping Pleiads wester
The Welsh Marches
The West
The winds out of the west land blow
The world goes none the lamer
They say my verse is sad: no wonder
They shall have breath that never were
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly
This time of year a twelvemonth past
Tis five years since
Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
To An Athlete Dying Young
To stand up straight and tread the turning mill
Twice a week the winter thorough
W
Wake not for the world-heard thunder
We’ll to the woods no more
Westward on the high-hilled plains
When Adam walked in Eden young
When first my way to fair I took
When green buds hang in the elm like dust
When I came last to Ludlow
When Israel out of Egypt came
When I was one-and-twenty
When I watch the living meet
When I would muse in boyhood
When lads were home from labour
When smoke stood up from Ludlow
When summer’s end is nighing
When the bells justle in the tower
When the eye of day is shut
When the lad for longing sighs
White in the moon the long road lies
With rue my heart is laden
Y
Yonder see the morning blink
Yon flakes that fret the eastern sky
Young is the blood that yonder
You smile upon your friend to-day
