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