Alfred Edward Housman

(26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936 / Worcestershire)

Alfred Edward Housman Poems

1. Xv: 'Tis Five Years Since, An End Said I 1/28/2014
2. Xxvi: Good Creatures Do You Love Your Lives 1/28/2014
3. Xx: The Night Is Freezing Fast 1/28/2014
4. Xvii: The Stars Have Not Dealt Me The Worst They Could Do 1/28/2014
5. Xl: Farewell To A Name And Number 1/28/2014
6. Xxxix: Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/28/2014
7. Hell's Gate 6/26/2015
8. When The Eye Of Day Is Shut 11/18/2015
9. Her Strong Enchantments Failing 11/25/2015
10. Soldier from the wars returning 1/7/2016
11. Revolution 2/5/2016
12. Xvi: Spring Morning 1/28/2014
13. Xxi: The World Goes None The Lamer 1/28/2014
14. Xvii: Astronomy 1/28/2014
15. Xxxvi: Revolution 1/28/2014
16. Xxxv: When First My Way To Fair I Took 1/28/2014
17. Xix: The Mill Stream Now That Noises Cease 1/28/2014
18. Xii: An Epitaph 1/28/2014
19. Xxviii: Now Dreary Dawns The Eastern Light 1/28/2014
20. Xxii: The Sloe Was Lost In Flower 1/28/2014
21. Vi: Lancer 1/28/2014
22. Xxiii: Crossing Alone The Nighted Ferry 1/28/2014
23. Xlvii: For My Funeral 1/28/2014
24. Xxxii: When I Would Muse In Boyhood 1/28/2014
25. The Nonsense Verse 1/28/2014
26. Xviii: The Rain It Streams On Stone And Hillock 1/28/2014
27. Xvi: How Clear, How Lovely Bright 1/28/2014
28. Xxii: R L S 1/28/2014
29. I: Easter Hymn 12/17/2014
30. A Shropshire Lad, Ii 2/18/2015
31. Xxvi: The Half-Moon Westers Low My Love 1/28/2014
32. Lx: Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black 1/28/2014
33. Goodnight 11/28/2014
34. Xii: He Would Not Stay With Me And Who Can Wonder 1/28/2014
35. When I Came Last To Ludlow 1/3/2003
36. Westward On The High-Hilled Plains 1/3/2003
37. This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past 1/3/2003
38. Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town 1/3/2003
39. Oh, See How Thick The Goldcup Flowers 1/3/2003
40. The Isle Of Portland 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Alfred Edward Housman

Here Dead We Lie

Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

Read the full of Here Dead We Lie

Eight O'Clock

He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.

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