Alfred Edward Housman
Alfred Edward Housman Poems
|101.||Epitaph On An Army of Mercenaries||1/3/2003|
|104.||Could Man Be Drunk Forever||1/3/2003|
|105.||Bring, In This Timeless Grave to Throw||1/3/2003|
|107.||Be Still, My Soul, Be Still||1/3/2003|
|108.||As Through the Wild Green Hills of Wyre||1/3/2003|
|109.||Along The Field as We Came By||12/31/2002|
|110.||A Shropshire Lad, II||2/18/2015|
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.