Last Poems by A. E. Housman
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Last Poems by A. E. Housman - A. E. (Alfred Edward) Housman
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Poems, by A. E. Housman
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Title: Last Poems
Author: A. E. Housman
Release Date: August 3, 2009 [EBook #7848]
Last Updated: February 4, 2013
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS ***
Produced by A. P. Saulters, and David Widger
LAST POEMS
By A. E. Housman
I publish these poems, few though they are, because it is not likely that I shall ever be impelled to write much more. I can no longer expect to be revisited by the continuous excitement under which in the early months of 1895 I wrote the greater part of my first book, nor indeed could I well sustain it if it came; and it is best that what I have written should be printed while I am here to see it through the press and control its spelling and punctuation. About a quarter of this matter belongs to the April of the present year, but most of it to dates between 1895 and 1910.
September 1922
We'll to the woods no more,
The laurels are all cut,
The bowers are bare of bay
That once the Muses wore;
The year draws in the day
And soon will evening shut:
The laurels all are cut,
We'll to the woods no more.
Oh we'll no more, no more
To the leafy woods away,
To the high wild woods of laurel
And the bowers of bay no more.
CONTENTS
I. THE WEST
II.
III.
IV. ILLIC JACET
V. GRENADIER
VI. LANCER
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII. THE DESERTER
XIV. THE CULPRIT
XV. EIGHT O'CLOCK
XVI. SPRING MORNING
XVII. ASTRONOMY
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV. EPITHALAMIUM
XXV. THE ORACLES
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX. SINNER'S RUE
XXXI. HELL'S GATE
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI. REVOLUTION
XXXVII. EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI. FANCY'S KNELL
I. THE WEST
Beyond the moor and the mountain crest
—Comrade, look not on the west—
The sun is down and drinks away
From air and land the lees of day.
The long cloud and the single pine
Sentinel the ending line,
And out beyond it, clear and wan,
Reach the gulfs of evening on.
The son of woman turns his brow
West from forty countries now,
And, as the edge of