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A. E. Housman Quote - June suns, you cannot store them To warm the winter’s cold, The lad that hopes for heaven Shall fill his mouth with mould.

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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White in the moon the long road lies.
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Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.
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They say my verse is sad: no wonder; Its narrow measure spans Tears of eternity, and sorrow, Not mine. but man’s.
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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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Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.
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But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts. And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts.
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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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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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Earth and high heaven are fixed of old and founded strong.
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Tell me not here, it needs not saying, What tune the enchantress plays In aftermaths of soft September Or under blanching mays, For she and I were long acquainted And I knew all her ways.
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Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man’s deceiver Was never mine.
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When the journey’s over/There’ll be time enough to sleep.
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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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To justify God’s ways to man.
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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.
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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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