And malt does more than Milton can to justify God’s ways to man.
A. E. HOUSMANTherefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill.
More A. E. Housman Quotes
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And 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.
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Oh 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.
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Here dead lie we 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.
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The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn.
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A moment’s thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.
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And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
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His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.
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When the journey’s over/There’ll be time enough to sleep.
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Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free.
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I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
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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.
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I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
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Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.
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Housman 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.
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June suns, you cannot store them To warm the winter’s cold, The lad that hopes for heaven Shall fill his mouth with mould.
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With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipped maiden And many a lightfoot lad.
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Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
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Tomorrow, more’s the pity, Away we both must hie, To air the ditty and to earth I.
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There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.
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We now to peace and darkness And earth and thee restore Thy creature that thou madest And wilt cast forth no more.
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Who made the world I cannot tell; ‘Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.
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The rainy Pleiads wester Orion plunges prone, And midnight strikes and hastens, And I lie down alone.
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They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
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When the journey’s over, There’ll be time enough to sleep.
A. E. HOUSMAN