Ale, man, Ale's the stuff to drink, for fellows whom it hurts to think.

— A.E. Housman

All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue forever.

— A.E. Housman

Along the field as we came BYA year ago, my love and I, The aspen over stile and stone Was talking to itself alone.'Oh, who are these that kiss and pass? A country lover and his lass;Two lovers looking to be wed;And time shall put them both to bed, But she shall lie with earth above, And he is beside another love.' And sure enough beneath the tree There walks another love with me, And overhead the aspen heaves Its rainy-sounding silver leaves;And I spell nothing in their stir, But now perhaps they speak to her, And plain for her to understand They talk about a time at hand When I shall sleep with clover clad, And she is beside another lad.

— A.E. Housman

And friends abroad must bear in mind Friends at home they leave behind. Oh, I shall be stiff and cold When I forget you, hearts of gold;The land where I shall mind you notes the land where all's forgot. And if my foot returns no Moreno Time nor Core nor Severn shore, Luck, my lads, be with you still By falling stream and standing hill, By chiming tower and whispering tree, Men that made a man of me. About your work in town and farm Still you'll keep my head from harm, Still you'll help me, hands that gave grasp to friend me to the grave.

— A.E. Housman

Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle, Earth and high heaven are fit of old and founded strong. Think rather,--call to thought, if now you grieve a little, The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long. Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;Sweat ran and blood sprang out, and I was never sorry:Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born. Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason, I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun. Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation--Oh why did I awake? When shall I sleep again?

— A.E. Housman

Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries These, in the day when heaven was falling, The hour when earth's foundations fled, Followed their mercenary calling And took their wages and are dead. Their shoulders held the sky suspended;They stood, and earth's foundations stay;What God abandoned, these defended, And saved the sum of things for pay.

— A.E. Housman

Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out. Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.

— A.E. Housman

Great literature should do some good to the reader: must quicken his perception though dull, and sharpen his discrimination though blunt, and mellow the rawness of his personal opinions.

— A.E. Housman

How clear, how lovely bright, How beautiful to sight Those beams of morning play;How heaven laughs out with glee Where, like a bird set free, Up from the eastern sea Soars the delightful day. To-day I shall be strong, No more shall yield to wrong, Shall squander life no more;Days lost, I know not how, I shall retrieve them now;Now I shall keep the vow I never kept before. Ensanguining the skies How heavily it dies Into the west away;Past touch and sight and sound Not further to be found, How hopeless underground Falls the remorseful day.

— A.E. Housman

If it chance your eye offends you, Pluck it out lad, and be sound:'Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you, And many a balsam grows on ground. And if your hand or foot offend you, Cut it off, lad, and be whole;But play the man, stand up and end you, When your sickness is your soul.

— A.E. Housman