White in the moon the long road lies.
A. E. HOUSMANThe average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
More A. E. Housman Quotes
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When the journey’s over, There’ll be time enough to sleep.
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Good religious poetry… is likely to be most justly appreciated and most discriminately relished by the undevout.
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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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All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.
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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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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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Look not in my eyes, for fear They mirror true the sight I see, And there you find your face too clear And love it and be lost like me.
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The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
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I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.
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Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill.
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When the journey’s over/There’ll be time enough to sleep.
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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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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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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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All knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use.
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Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.
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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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And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
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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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Do not ever read books about versification: no poet ever learnt it that way. If you are going to be a poet, it will come to you naturally and you will pick up all you need from reading poetry.
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I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
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Oh, ’tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around.
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The fairies break their dances And leave the printed lawn.
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I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
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Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck.
A. E. HOUSMAN