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Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

A. E. Housman

The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Break Dance Leaving Print
When the journey’s over/There’ll be time enough to sleep.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Enough Journey Limit Order Rich Sleep Struggle Success Time
The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Happiness Happy Joy Mind Satisfy Soul
The house of delusions is cheap to build but drafty to live in.
A. E. HOUSMAN
A moment’s thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Believe Humanity Long Luck Moment Pain Painful Struggle
I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.
A. E. HOUSMAN
Clay 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. HOUSMAN
That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went and cannot come again.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Content Lost Myself Plain Shine
There, 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. HOUSMAN
June suns, you cannot store them To warm the winter’s cold, The lad that hopes for heaven Shall fill his mouth with mould.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Heaven Himself Hope Store Warm
Experience 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. HOUSMAN

Act Experience Memory Morning Poetry Skin Teaching
With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipped maiden And many a lightfoot lad.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Friendship Heart Maidan
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Drink Fellow Hurt
His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Day Heart Himself Man Soul Woman
I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Afraid Myself Stranger World
White in the moon the long road lies.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

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Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

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