by A E Housman
Alc. May I then enter, passing through the door?
Cho. Go, chase into the house a lucky foot.
And, O my son, be, on the one hand, good,
And do not, on the other hand, be bad;
For that is very much the safest plan.
Alc. I go into the house with heels and speed.
Chorus
In speculation — Strophe
I would not willingly acquire a name
For ill-digested thought,
But after pondering much
To this conclusion I at last have come:
Life is uncertain.
This truth I have written deep
In my reflective midriff
On tablets not of wax,
Nor with a pen did I inscribe it there
For many reasons: Life, I say, is not
A stranger to uncertainty.
Not from the flight of omen-yelling fowls
This fact did I discover,
Nor did the Delphic tripod bark it out,
Nor yet Dodona.
Its native ingenuity sufficed
My self-taught diaphragm.
Why should I mention Antistrophe
The Inachean daughter, loved of Zeus?
Her whom of old the gods,
More provident than kind,
Provided with four hoofs, two horns, one tail,
A gift not asked for,
And sent her forth to learn
The unfamiliar science
Of how to chew the cud.
She therefore, all about the Argive fields,
Went cropping pale green grass and nettle-tops,
Nor did they disagree with her.
Yet, howsoe’er nutritious, such repasts
I do not hanker after.
Never may Cypris for her seat select
My dappled liver!
Why should I mention Io? Why indeed?
I have no notion why.
But now does my boding heart Epode
Unhired, unaccompanied, sing
A strain not meet for the dance.
Yea, even the palace appears
To my yoke of circular eyes
(The right, nor omit I the left)
Like a slaughterhouse, so to speak,
Garnished with woolly deaths
And many shipwrecks of cows.
I therefore in a Cissian strain lament,
And to the rapid,
Loud, linen-tattering thumps upon my chest
Resounds in concert
The battering of my unlucky head.
Eriphyla (within). O, I am smitten with a hatchet’s jaw;
And that in deed and not in word along.
Chor. I thought I heard a sound within the house
Unlike the voice of one that jumps for joy.
En. He splits my skull, not in a friendly way,
Once more: he purposes to kill me dead.
Chor. I would not be reputed rash, but yet
I doubt if all be gay within the house.
En. O! O! another stroke! that makes the third.
He stabs me to the heart against my wish.
Cho. If that be so, thy state of health is poor;
But thine arithmetic is quite correct.
UNCOLLECTED POEMS
CONTENTS
The Land of Lost Content
Breathe, my lute, beneath my fingers
O billows bounding far
White is the wold, and ghostly
The Land of Lost Content
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
Breathe, my lute, beneath my fingers
Breathe, my lute, beneath my fingers
One regretful breath,
One lament for life that lingers
Round the doors of death.
For the frost has killed the rose,
And our summer dies in snows,
And our morning once for all
Gathers to the evenfall.
Hush, my lute, return to sleeping,
Sing no songs again.
For the reaper stays his reaping
On the darkened plain;
And the day has drained its cup,
And the twilight cometh up;
Song and sorrow all that are
Slumber at the even-star.
O billows bounding far
O billows bounding far,
How wet, how we ye are!
When first my gaze ye met
I said “Those waves are wet.”
I said it, and am quite
Convinced that I was right.
Who saith that ye are dry?
I give that man the lie.
Thy wetness, O thou sea,
Is wonderful to me.
It agitates my heart,
To think how wet thou art.
No object I have met
Is more profoundly wet.
Methinks ‘twere vain to try,
O sea, to wipe thee dry.
I therefore will refrain.
Farewell, thou humid main.
White is the wold, and ghostly
White is the wold, and ghostly
The dank and leafless trees,
And M’s and N’s are mostly
Pronounced as B’s and D’s
Dever bore bedeath the bood
Shall byrtle boughs edtwide,
Dever bore thy bellow voice
Bake belody with bide.
The Poems
At the age of eighteen, Hopkins won an open scholarship to St John’s College, Oxford to study the classics.
LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Leave your home behind, lad
Wake: the silver dusk returning
Oh see how thick the goldcup flowers
When the lad for longing sighs
When smoke stood up from Ludlow
Farewell to barn and stack and tree
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
The Sun at noon to higher air
On your midnight pallet lying
When I watch the living meet
When I was one-and-twenty
There pass the careless people
Look not in my eyes, for fear
It nods and curtseys and recovers
Twice a week the winter thorough
Oh, when I was in love with you
The time you won your town the race
Oh fair enough are sky and plain
In summertime on Bredon
The street sounds to the soldiers’ tread
The lads in their hundreds
Say, lad, have you things to do
This time of year a twelvemonth past
Along the field as we came by
Is my team ploughing
High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
’Tis spring; come out to ramble
Others, I am not the first
On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble
From far, from eve and morning
If truth in hearts that perish
Oh, sick I am to see you
On the idle hill of summer
White in the moon the long road lies
As through the wild green hills of Wyre
The winds out of the west land blow
’Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
Into my heart on air that kills
In my own shire, if I was sad
Once in the wind of morning
When I meet the morning beam
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending
If it chance your eye offend you
Br
ing, in this timeless grave to throw
Here the hangman stops his cart
Be still, my soul, be still
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly
In valleys of springs of rivers
Loitering with a vacant eye
Far in a western brookland
The lad came to the door at night
With rue my heart is laden
Westward on the high-hilled plains
Far I hear the bugle blow
You smile upon your friend to-day
When I came last to Ludlow
The star-filled seas are smooth to-night
Now hollow fires burn out to black
The vane on Hughley steeple
Terence, this is stupid stuff
I hoed and trenched and weeded
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. THE FIRST OF MAY
XXXV.
XXXVI. REVOLUTION
XXXVII. EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI. FANCY’S KNELL
I. Easter Hymn
II.
III.
IV. The Sage to the Young Man
V. Diffugere Nives, Horace — Odes, IV 7
VI.
VII.
VIII.A
VIII.B
VIII.C
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI. I Counsel You Beware
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI.
XLII. A. J. J.
XLIII.
XLIV.
XLV.
XLVI. The Land of Biscay
XLVII.
XLVIII. Parta Quies
I. Atys
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XI.A
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX. The Defeated
XX.
XXI. New Year’s Eve
XXII. R. L. S.
XXIII. The Olive
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V. The Rights of Men
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI.
XLII.
XLIII.
XLIV
XLV. Christmas Carol
XLVI.
Alcestis, from Euripides
Oedipus at Colonus, from Sophocles
Seven Against Thebes, from Aeschylus
The Use And Abuse Of Toads
The shades of night were falling fast
The Crocodile
I knew a Cappadocian
Amelia mixed some mustard
What, little Arthur, do you know
It is a fearful thing to be
The Amphisbæna
The Elephant
When Adam day by day
The Cat
Infant Innocence
There is Hallelujah Hannah
Hallelujah!
Elegant Edith and Modest Minnie
O have you caught the tiger?
As I was walking slowly
Purple William
The African Lion
Now all day the horned herds
Aunts and Nieces
The Latin author Lucan
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Fragment of an English Opera
Whit Monday, 1903
The oyster is found in the ocean
At the door of my own little hovel
The Bear or The Empty Perambulator or The Pathos of Ignorance
Of old the little Busy Bee
Oft when the night is chilly
Inhuman Henry
The Unicorn is not a Goose
Fragment of a Greek Tragedy
The Land of Lost Content
Breathe, my lute, beneath my fingers
O billows bounding far
White is the wold, and ghostly
LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
A-D E-H I-L M-O P-S T-V W-Z
Alcestis, from Euripides
Along the field as we came by
Amelia mixed some mustard
As I was walking slowly
As through the wild green hills of Wyre
At the door of my own little hovel
Aunts and Nieces
Be still, my soul, be still
Breathe, my lute, beneath my fingers
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw
Elegant Edith and Modest Minnie
Far I hear the bugle blow
Far in a western brookland
Farewell to barn and stack and tree
Fragment of a Greek Tragedy
Fragment of an English Opera
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns
From far, from eve and morning
Hallelujah!
Here the hangman stops his cart
High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
I hoed and trenched and weeded
I knew a Cappadocian
I.
I. Atys
I. Easter Hymn
I. THE WEST
If it chance your eye offend you
If truth in hearts that perish
II.
II.
II.
II.
III.
III.
III.
III.
In my own shire, if I was sad
In summertime on Bredon
In valleys of springs of rivers
Infant Innocence
Inhuman Henry
Into my heart on air that kills
Is m
y team ploughing
It is a fearful thing to be
It nods and curtseys and recovers
IV.
IV.
IV. ILLIC JACET
IV. The Sage to the Young Man
IX.
IX.
IX.
IX.
Leave your home behind, lad
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Loitering with a vacant eye
Look not in my eyes, for fear
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Now all day the horned herds
Now hollow fires burn out to black
O billows bounding far
O have you caught the tiger?
Oedipus at Colonus, from Sophocles
Of old the little Busy Bee
Oft when the night is chilly
Oh fair enough are sky and plain
Oh see how thick the goldcup flowers
Oh, sick I am to see you
Oh, when I was in love with you
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
On the idle hill of summer
On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble
On your midnight pallet lying
Once in the wind of morning
Others, I am not the first
Purple William
Say, lad, have you things to do
Seven Against Thebes, from Aeschylus
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending
Terence, this is stupid stuff
The African Lion
The Amphisbæna
The Bear or The Empty Perambulator or The Pathos of Ignorance
The Cat
The Crocodile
The Elephant
The lad came to the door at night
The lads in their hundreds
The Land of Lost Content
The Latin author Lucan
The oyster is found in the ocean
The shades of night were falling fast
The star-filled seas are smooth to-night
The street sounds to the soldiers’ tread
The Sun at noon to higher air
The time you won your town the race
The Unicorn is not a Goose
The Use And Abuse Of Toads
The vane on Hughley steeple
The winds out of the west land blow
There is Hallelujah Hannah
There pass the careless people
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly
This time of year a twelvemonth past
’Tis spring; come out to ramble
’Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
Twice a week the winter thorough
V.
V. Diffugere Nives, Horace — Odes, IV 7
V. GRENADIER
V. The Rights of Men