E. Housman
E. Housman
comfort lad luck small
Little is the luck I've had, And oh, 'tis comfort small - To think that many another lad - Has had no luck at all
luck towers hours
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.
light luck lovers-meeting
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.
luck chance trouble
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure.
brute certainty cursed hopeful plans sat tempest whatever
We for a certainty are not the first have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed whatever brute and blackguard made the world.
perfect understanding sometimes
Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.
religious appreciated poetry-is
Good religious poetry... is likely to be most justly appreciated and most discriminately relished by the undevout.
heart rose rue
With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipped maiden And many a lightfoot lad.
men odds world
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.
lying moon dust
White in the moon the long road lies, The moon stands blank above; White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love. Still hangs the hedge without a gust, Still, still the shadows stay: My feet upon the moonlit dust Pursue the ceaseless way. The world is round, so travellers tell, And straight through reach the track, Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well, The way will guide one back. But ere the circle homeward hies Far, far must it remove: White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love.
excellence done thousand
Ten thousand times I've done my best and all's to do again.
right-words
I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.
soul fence halt
There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.
men average criticism
The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.