Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man’s deceiver Was never mine.
A. E. HOUSMANHope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man’s deceiver Was never mine.
A. E. HOUSMANThere, like the wind through woods in riot, Through him the gale of life blew high; The tree of man was never quiet: Then ’twas the Roman, now ’tis I.
A. E. HOUSMANHousman is one of my heroes and always has been. He was a detestable and miserable man. Arrogant, unspeakably lonely, cruel, and so on, but and absolutely marvellous minor poet, I think, and a great scholar.
A. E. HOUSMANThe house of delusions is cheap to build but drafty to live in.
A. E. HOUSMANStars, I have seen them fall, But when they drop and die No star is lost at all From all the star-sown sky. The toil of all that be Helps not the primal fault; It rains into the sea And still the sea is salt.
A. E. HOUSMANEven when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out. Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.
A. E. HOUSMANThe average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
A. E. HOUSMANWith rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipped maiden And many a lightfoot lad.
A. E. HOUSMANTomorrow, more’s the pity, Away we both must hie, To air the ditty and to earth I.
A. E. HOUSMANClay lies still, but blood’s a rover; Breath’s aware that will not keep. Up, lad: when the journey’s over then there’ll be time enough to sleep.
A. E. HOUSMANOh I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where. And carried half way home, or near, pints and quarts of Ludlow beer.
A. E. HOUSMANExperience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
A. E. HOUSMANAll knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use.
A. E. HOUSMANLoveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
A. E. HOUSMANLook not in my eyes, for fear They mirror true the sight I see, And there you find your face too clear And love it and be lost like me.
A. E. HOUSMANHis folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.
A. E. HOUSMAN