The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
A. E. HOUSMANHe would not stay for me, and who can wonder? He would not stay for me to stand and gaze. I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder, And went with half my life about my ways.
More A. E. Housman Quotes
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White in the moon the long road lies.
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Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man’s deceiver Was never mine.
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On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble;His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;The wind it plies the saplings double, And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
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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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And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
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Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out; but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
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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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There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.
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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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Lovers lying two and two Ask not whom they sleep beside, And the bridegroom all night through Never turns him to the bride.
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Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
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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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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.
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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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Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
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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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Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.
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I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
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Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill.
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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 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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But if you ever come to a road where danger; Or guilt or anguish or shame’s to share. Be good to the lad who loves you true, And the soul that was born to die for you; And whistle and I’ll be there.
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He would not stay for me, and who can wonder? He would not stay for me to stand and gaze. I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder, And went with half my life about my ways.
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The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.
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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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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