In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
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In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
A. E. HOUSMANWhen the journey’s over, There’ll be time enough to sleep.
A. E. HOUSMANAnd silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
A. E. HOUSMANI could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
A. E. HOUSMANBut if you ever come to a road where danger; Or guilt or anguish or shame’s to share. Be good to the lad who loves you true, And the soul that was born to die for you; And whistle and I’ll be there.
A. E. HOUSMANAnd malt does more than Milton can to justify God’s ways to man.
A. E. HOUSMANGreat literature should do some good to the reader: must quicken his perception though dull, and sharpen his discrimination though blunt, and mellow the rawness of his personal opinions.
A. E. HOUSMANThe laws of God, the laws of man, He may keep that will and can; Not I: let God and man decree Laws for themselves and not for me.
A. E. HOUSMANHope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man’s deceiver Was never mine.
A. E. HOUSMANAnd silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
A. E. HOUSMANBut men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts. And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts.
A. E. HOUSMANI do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
A. E. HOUSMANThere, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.
A. E. HOUSMANOn Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble;His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;The wind it plies the saplings double, And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
A. E. HOUSMANAnd how am I to face the odds Of man’s bedevilment and God’s? I, a stranger and afraid In a world I never made.
A. E. HOUSMANSome men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.
A. E. HOUSMAN