by A E Housman
Day falls, night climbs, the hour last lost its name;
Quick, quick! the lightning’s pace were weary, slow,
And here you loiter spelling gravestones: go.
II.
And idle under sighing oak
Or near drowsing linden laid
Maiden and youth in whispers spoke,
In whispers, youth and maid.
III.
Some air that swept the ARabian strand
When the pearl gulf was calm,
Some wind that waved in morning-land
The plumage of the palm.
With odours from the vales of balm,
That far away it fanned,
And whispering of the plumy palm
It moved in morning-land.
IV.
She would not peace at all; she would not honour
At all: the Lord hath lifted up therefor
The darkness of his countenance upon her
And given her war.
V. The Rights of Men
Ho, sons of old oppression
Toiling with hardened hands
Till the night fall:
Good tidings, bond and thrall!
Grudge not the lord of lands
Their bounded brief possession,
You shall have all.
VI.
The fights they waged aforetime
Their souls in hell rehearse;
They have made an end of wartime
And now they reap the curse;
VII.
The old deceived diviner
Awakes in hell to find
The web of doom spun finer
Than any mortal mind;
VIII.
But over all their number
The shower of death is shed;
Far folds the stream of slumber
On many a strengthless head.
IX.
But what you mean to squander
Twice it was never had:
The gift there’s no regaining,
Why will you lose it, lad?
Where have you [had the] poison
That your fool’s heart is fain
To throw the thing away
You never [have] again?
What light to light the way
That talisman bestows
They know not that possess it
But he that lost it knows.
X.
I have desired to die,
That so this fire might cease,
When you were lost, and I
Were perished and at peace.
XI.
Heard in the hour of pausing voices,
That brings the turning wheel to stand,
When barges moor and windows fasten
And lights are faded in the land.
XII.
My heart, my heart is silent;
The larks sing loud and shrill;
High, high the larks hang singing;
My heart, my heart is still.
High spring the leaves and grasses;
Then I was no more proud;
My heart, my heart is silent
Although the larks sing loud.
XIII.
How many milestones more to pass
Before the turning road
Shall bring me to my roof
And steeple-gloomed abode?
XIV.
Come, soldier, to the fight:
From the world’s end the burgle pierces thin,
The horses neigh to smell the light
Ere dawn be up: come, soldier, to the fight
We shall not win.
XV.
They all were scattered, far to seek,
That now are easy found,
Where stones with turning shadows streak
Their many-slumbered ground.
XVI.
Under the earth we trample
The thoughtless dead lie thick;
This outspread surface ample
Bears, sprinkled thin, the quick.
XVII.
When Adam of the apple ate
He had [no] friend to keep him straight;
God to a wife: ’twas hopeless odds.
Friends are a deal more help than gods.
XVIII.
Ned Lear and I were drunk last week,
Oh, dripping drunk were Ned and I,
Too drunk to see, too drunk to speak,
Too helpless drunk to reason why.
You might have looked through Ludlow fair
And never spied a tipsier pair.
Off to the fair, the morn of May,
Two lovely lads went I and Ned.
Clean shirts, blue neckties, breastknots gay,
New coats on back, new hats on head.
And who this week are wearing those
Two hats, the Lord Almighty knows.
[ ] then began
The quarrel which should go with Fan.
He called me all the names he knew,
And that was more than he could spell;
I gave him stuff to think of too,
The tale about his sister Nell
And Martin Hughes, and what folks thought
And folks expected: then we fought.
XIX.
The signpost on the height
Strikes with five arms to all the sky:
“Here I go left, and you go right;
Shake hands, my lad; goodbye; goodbye.”
XX.
Who [remarks] while the tribes of Genghis Khan
On Asian mountains moulder in the rain,
How light upon the desert caravan
The sandstorm showers the death of Tamerlane?
XXI.
Then, in the hour when iron is sand,
And mountains crumble, this should stand,
Nor falling firmament remove
The landmark of disastrous love.
XXII.
The day the child comes to the birth
He does not laugh, he cries:
So quick he learns the tune that earth
Will sing him till he dies.
XXIII.
Her father turned her from the door
And when, like better folks before,
She had not where to lay her head,
Then her heart came back to Ned.
Ned at home was sitting late
Thinking, by the embered grate.
All the house was long abed
But starting in the fire sat Ned.
The fire was out, the [air was chill],
When a foot came to the sill
And a hand afraid to knock
Fingered faintly at the lock.
Long did those two sweethearts stand,
In love, and never lift a hand.
Long and speechless and apart
Still breaking heart to breaking heart.
The rain blew in, the door swung wide;
Nancy only cried and cried.
XXIV.
“Hist, Terence, hist! wake up: ’tis I.”
That was a voice I know.
Up I got and out I looked
And saw who stood below.
XXV.
Often, drinking, warm with ale,
Or laughing at an idle tale,
Into my heart the thought comes cold
How I forget my friends of old,
Lads that before light was gone
Put the cap of darkness on.
What a clod of earth am I
Forgetting fellows when they die!
[ ] any trifle glads
My heart, and you forgot, my lads.
And come to think [ ]
Poor fellows, I’m no worse than you;
I keep you in mind no more
But you forgot me long before.
Long it lasted; now it ends,
I’ll say no more that we were friends.
Who could think that knew us then,
When they and I were living men,
And saw what friends we used to seem,
— Who could think it, who could dream?
XXVI.
In the land where honour is forgotten,
In the company that all kings keep,
With the children that shall never be begotten
You shall sleep.
XXVII.
Streams of the forsaken west
Keep the hearts that I love best;
Keep your treasure, land and sea;
Shropshire breeds the men for me.
Golden lads and good to trust
Plant their heels in Shropshire dust;
On the western highways go
Lovely lads and good to know.
Corve and Teme and Severn shore,
Countries where I come no more,
Under starlight now they stream
Broad along the lands of dream,
Only morning shows no more
Corve nor Teme nor Severn shore.
XXVIII.
The Queen she sends to say
That I must ride away:
Farewell then, friends; my sovereign sends
And no true man must stay.
She lends me a coach to ride
With a man in blue outside.
Such need of me, good soul, has she
She will not be denied.
Good bye, my lads, good bye;
There’s no more tricks to try:
XXIX.
Strolling in the glades of Hay
Where once the Lady took her way
And the lighted palace stood
Midmost of the [ ] wood
XXX.
And all between them, up and down,
By mere and hamlet, hill and town,
On many a belfry-shaded knoll
Man has laid his mortal soul.
XXXI.
Says the grenadier to me,
“Give me half-a-crown,” says he.
To the grenadier says I,
“Very well, my lad, but why?”
“Why,” says he, “for standing cheer
To a British grenadier.”
So I put the money down
And he took my half-a-crown.
XXXII.
If you’ll be kind to one another,
That’s the coin would pay me best;
But if man still must hate his brother,
Hate away, lads, I will rest.
XXXIII.
Because out of the womb he brings
And carries to the grave
A head full of the thoughts of things
He will not ever have.
XXXIV.
Now forms the line and faces
The lead that spits the rains
And fleet the red blood races
Along the soldier’s veins.
At all the gates it hammers
And to heaven [sends a] shout,
And shakes the bolts and clamours,
”Ho, jailer, let me out!
I lief would smell the nitre
And play in the sunshine warm
And paint the soldier brighter
Than the Queen’s uniform.”
XXXV.
Hope and fear and hate and lust,
Foes and comrades, all are slain.
Peace be with them, for I trust
Never to be young again.
XXXVI.
Cheer, for the time of tyranny is out,
The shards of Dagon heap the temple floor,
Illuminated nations sing and shout:
Let them; but heaven has heard that noise before.
XXXVII.
Found are the [ ] I sought for,
Lost are the shots I sped;
And every face I fought for
Is old or dead.
XXXVIII.
Since men are born to toil,
Not two or three, nor some
I will not curse and hollo
Whose troubles are to come.
XXXIX.
The old defences abide
And seaward returns the tide.
In surety that all stands fast
Lie down, defender, at last.
XL.
“Stand back, you men and horses,
You armies, turn and fly;
You rivers, change your courses
And climb the hills, or I
Will know the reason why.
“Dissolve, O tempest brewing,
I will have heaven serene;
Despair, O tides, of doing
The mischief that you mean,
For I will stand between.
“Death, turn your dart and blunt it,
Hell, take and break your bow;
XLI.
From the brief and winter day
And its little [ ] of light
I shall take to bed away
Things to dream of all the night.
XLII.
I dreamt I was reading a passage of George Eliot, in which was quoted, printed in italics as prose, the verse
The bogle of the [hairy weid]
That beast nor man hat trod
Must not be seen of you nor me
Nor aught but hell and God.
XLIII.
Here, in the beechen forest,
When spring and love were new,
I took my knife last April,
I carved the names of two.
November comes, and carries
More than the leaves away.
Eternal things are perished;
Their tablet shall not stay.
So here I bring the auger,
And in the hole I drill
I pour out of the vial
The vitriol sure to kill.
Next May in one green woodland
Shall stand a naked tree,
When spring comes north and islands
Turn leafy in the sea.
XLIV
Once in the springing season,
When earth made gallant show,
Out of the mine a jewel
Was given me, years ago.
Long worn, its lustre’s tarnished,
It’s no more pride to me:
I go tonight to fling it
In the cold and solvent sea.
XLV. Christmas Carol
Bells at sunrise making babel:
Christ is born, I hear men say.
Shepherds, bring me to the stable,
That I may give my Lord good-day.
For you heard fall the angels’ warning,
Keeping of the starlit fold,
All in the dark midwinter morning
Amongst the pearly rime so cold.
Lully, lully, lully, humming:
Shepherds, say, is this the door?
Oh, Kings out of the east are coming,
But I have brought my gifts before.
Over the frail star-travelled stranger
With tears and smiles his mother bows,
And all about the misty manager
Steams the sweet breath of the cows.
XLVI.
When June was in the vale,
The merry month of June,
That stills the nightingale
And breaks the blackbird’s tune;
TRANSLATIONS
CONTENTS
Alcestis, from Euripides
Oedipus at Colonus, from Sophocles
Seven Against Thebes, from Aeschylus
Alcestis, from Euripides
Lines 962–1005
In heaven-high musings and many,
Far seeking and deep debate,
Of strong things find I not any
That is as the strength of Fate.
Help nor healing is told
In soothsayings uttered of old,
In the Thracian runes, the verses
Engraven of Orpheus’ pen;
No balm of virtue to save
Apollo aforetime gave,
Who stayeth with tender mercies
The plag
ues of the children of men.
She hath not her habitation
In temples that hands have wrought;
Him that bringeth oblation,
Behold, she heedeth him naught.
Be thou not wroth with us more,
O mistress, than heretofore;
For what God willeth soever,
That thou bringest to be;
Thou breakest in sunder the brand
Far forged in the Iron Land;
