All Poems
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Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town
© Alfred Edward Housman
'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.
On Your Midnight Pallet Lying
© Alfred Edward Housman
On your midnight pallet lying,
Listen, and undo the door:
Lads that waste the light in sighing
In the dark should sigh no more;
Westward on the High-Hilled Plains
© Alfred Edward Housman
Westward on the high-hilled plains
Where for me the world began,
Still, I think, in newer veins
Frets the changeless blood of man.
In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad
© Alfred Edward Housman
In my own shire, if I was sad,
Homely comforters I had:
The earth, because my heart was sore,
Sorrowed for the son she bore;
Say, Lad, Have You Things to Do?
© Alfred Edward Housman
Say, lad, have you things to do?
Quick then, while your day's at prime.
Quick, and if 'tis work for two,
Here am I man: now's your time.
The Welsh Marches
© Alfred Edward Housman
High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
Islanded in Severn stream;
The bridges from the steepled crest
Cross the water east and west.
Far In a Western Brookland
© Alfred Edward Housman
Far in a western brookland
That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
By pools I used to know.
When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow
© Alfred Edward Housman
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,
Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers
© Alfred Edward Housman
Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers
Are lying in field and lane,
With dandelions to tell the hours
That never are told again.
The rainy Pleiads wester
© Alfred Edward Housman
The rainy Pleiads wester,
Orion plunges prone,
The stroke of midnight ceases
And I lie down alone.
When I Came Last to Ludlow
© Alfred Edward Housman
When I came last to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale,
Two friends kept step beside me,
Two honest friends and hale.
I Hoed and Trenched and Weeded
© Alfred Edward Housman
I hoed and trenched and weeded,
And took the flowers to fair:
I brought them home unheeded;
The hue was not the wear.
March
© Alfred Edward Housman
The Sun at noon to higher air,
Unharnessing the silver Pair
That late before his chariot swam,
Rides on the gold wool of the Ram.
When the Lad for Longing Sighs
© Alfred Edward Housman
When the lad for longing sighs,
Mute and dull of cheer and pale,
If at death's own door he lies,
Maiden, you can heal his ail.
The Stinging Nettle
© Alfred Edward Housman
The stinging nettle only
Will still be found to stand:
The numberless, the lonely,
The thronger of the land,
The leaf that hurts the hand.
Ho, everyone that thirsteth
© Alfred Edward Housman
Ho, everyone that thirsteth
And hath the price to give,
Come to the stolen waters,
Drink and your soul shall live.
There Pass the Careless People
© Alfred Edward Housman
There pass the careless people
That call their souls their own:
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.
The Lads in Their Hundreds
© Alfred Edward Housman
The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair,
There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold,
The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there,
And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old.
Oh fair enough are sky and plain
© Alfred Edward Housman
Oh fair enough are sky and plain,
But I know fairer far:
Those are as beautiful again
That in the water are;
The Winds Out of the West Land Blow
© Alfred Edward Housman
The winds out of the west land blow,
My friends have breathed them there;
Warm with the blood of lads I know
Comes east the sighing air.
