Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out; but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
A. E. HOUSMANWhen the journey’s over, There’ll be time enough to sleep.
More A. E. Housman Quotes
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The thoughts of others Were light and fleeting, Of lovers’ meeting Or luck or fame. Mine were of trouble, And mine were steady; So I was ready When trouble came.
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I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.
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White in the moon the long road lies.
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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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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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Give me a land of boughs in leaf A land of trees that stand; Where trees are fallen there is grief; I love no leafless land.
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Nature, not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write.
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I think that to transfuse emotion – not to transmit thought but to set up in the reader’s sense a vibration corresponding to what was felt by the writer – is the peculiar function of poetry.
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They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat; They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up.
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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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The 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.
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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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Stars, 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.
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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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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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The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
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When the journey’s over, There’ll be time enough to sleep.
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Stone, steel, dominions pass, Faith too, no wonder; So leave alone the grass That I am under.
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The troubles of our proud and angry dust are from eternity, and shall not fail. Bear them we can, and if we can we must. Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
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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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Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.
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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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All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.
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Earth and high heaven are fixed of old and founded strong.
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I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
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Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go.
A. E. HOUSMAN