Last Poems by A. E. Housman

A. E. Housman

Last Poems

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 bayThat once the Muses wore;The year draws in the dayAnd soon will evening shut:The laurels all are cut,We'll to the woods no more.Oh we'll no more, no moreTo the leafy woods away,To the high wild woods of laurelAnd the bowers of bay no more.

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 heaven he eyes,     Thinks eternal thoughts, and sighs.     Oh wide's the world, to rest or roam,     With change abroad and cheer at home,     Fights and furloughs, talk and tale,     Company and beef and ale.     But if I front the evening sky     Silent on the west look I,     And my comrade, stride for stride,     Paces silent at my side,     Comrade, look not on the west:     'Twill have the heart out of your breast;     'Twill take your thoughts and sink them far,     Leagues beyond the sunset bar.     Oh lad, I fear that yon's the sea     Where they fished for you and me,     And there, from whence we both were ta'en,     You and I shall drown again.     Send not on your soul before     To dive from that beguiling shore,     And let not yet the swimmer leave     His clothes upon the sands of eve.     Too fast to yonder strand forlorn     We journey, to the sunken bourn,     To flush the fading tinges eyed     By other lads at eventide.     Wide is the world, to rest or roam,     And early 'tis for turning home:     Plant your heel on earth and stand,     And let's forget our native land.     When you and I are split on air     Long we shall be strangers there;     Friends of flesh and bone are best;     Comrade, look not on the west.

II

     As I gird on for fighting         My sword upon my thigh,     I think on old ill fortunes         Of better men than I.     Think I, the round world over,         What golden lads are low     With hurts not mine to mourn for         And shames I shall not know.     What evil luck soever         For me remains in store,     'Tis sure much finer fellows         Have fared much worse before.     So here are things to think on         That ought to make me brave,     As I strap on for fighting         My sword that will not save.

III

     Her strong enchantments failing,         Her towers of fear in wreck,     Her limbecks dried of poisons         And the knife at her neck,     The Queen of air and darkness         Begins to shrill and cry,     'O young man, O my slayer,         To-morrow you shall die.'     O Queen of air and darkness,         I think 'tis truth you say,     And I shall die to-morrow;         But you will die to-day.

IV. ILLIC JACET

     Oh hard is the bed they have made him,         And common the blanket and cheap;     But there he will lie as they laid him:         Where else could you trust him to sleep?     To sleep when the bugle is crying         And cravens have heard and are brave,     When mothers and sweethearts are sighing         And lads are in love with the grave.     Oh dark is the chamber and lonely,         And lights and companions depart;     But lief will he lose them and only         Behold the desire of his heart.     And low is the roof, but it covers         A sleeper content to repose;     And far from his friends and his lovers         He lies with the sweetheart he chose.

V. GRENADIER

     The Queen she sent to look for me,         The sergeant he did say,     'Young man, a soldier will you be         For thirteen pence a day?'     For thirteen pence a day did I         Take off the things I wore,     And I have marched to where I lie,         And I shall march no more.     My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet,         My blood runs all away,     So now I shall not die in debt         For thirteen pence a day.     To-morrow after new young men         The sergeant he must see,     For things will all be over then         Between the Queen and me.     And I shall have to bate my price,         For in the grave, they say,     Is neither knowledge nor device         Nor thirteen pence a day.

VI. LANCER

     I 'listed at home for a lancer,         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?     I 'listed at home for a lancer         To ride on a horse to my grave.     And over the seas we were bidden         A country to take and to keep;     And far with the brave I have ridden,         And now with the brave I shall sleep.     For round me the men will be lying         That learned me the way to behave.     And showed me my business of dying:         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?     They ask and there is not an answer;     Says I, I will 'list for a lancer,         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?     And I with the brave shall be sleeping         At ease on my mattress of loam,     When back from their taking and keeping         The squadron is riding home.     The wind with the plumes will be playing,         The girls will stand watching them wave,     And eyeing my comrades and saying         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?     They ask and there is not an answer;     Says you, I will 'list for a lancer,         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?

VII

     In valleys green and still         Where lovers wander maying     They hear from over hill         A music playing.     Behind the drum and fife,         Past hawthornwood and hollow,     Through earth and out of life         The soldiers follow.     The soldier's is the trade:         In any wind or weather     He steals the heart of maid         And man together.     The lover and his lass         Beneath the hawthorn lying     Have heard the soldiers pass,         And both are sighing.     And down the distance they         With dying note and swelling     Walk the resounding way         To the still dwelling.

VIII

     Soldier from the wars returning,         Spoiler of the taken town,     Here is ease that asks not earning;         Turn you in and sit you down.     Peace is come and wars are over,         Welcome you and welcome all,     While the charger crops the clover         And his bridle hangs in stall.     Now no more of winters biting,         Filth in trench from fall to spring,     Summers full of sweat and fighting         For the Kesar or the King.     Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle;         Kings and kesars, keep your pay;     Soldier, sit you down and idle         At the inn of night for aye.

IX

     The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers         Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,     The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.         Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.     There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,         One season ruined of our little store.     May will be fine next year as like as not:         Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.     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.     It is in truth iniquity on high         To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,     And mar the merriment as you and I         Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave.     Iniquity it is; but pass the can.         My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore;     Our only portion is the estate of man:         We want the moon, but we shall get no more.     If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours         To-morrow it will hie on far behests;     The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours         Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts.     The troubles of our proud and angry dust         Are from eternity, and shall not fail.     Bear them we can, and if we can we must.         Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

X

     Could man be drunk for ever         With liquor, love, or fights,     Lief should I rouse at morning         And lief lie down of nights.     But men at whiles are sober         And think by fits and starts,     And if they think, they fasten         Their hands upon their hearts.

XI

     Yonder see the morning blink:         The sun is up, and up must I,     To wash and dress and eat and drink     And look at things and talk and think         And work, and God knows why.     Oh often have I washed and dressed         And what's to show for all my pain?     Let me lie abed and rest:     Ten thousand times I've done my best         And all's to do again.

XII

         The laws of God, the laws of man,     He may keep that will and can;     Now I:  let God and man decree     Laws for themselves and not for me;     And if my ways are not as theirs     Let them mind their own affairs.     Their deeds I judge and much condemn,     Yet when did I make laws for them?     Please yourselves, say I, and they     Need only look the other way.     But no, they will not; they must still     Wrest their neighbour to their will,     And make me dance as they desire     With jail and gallows and hell-fire.     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.     They will be master, right or wrong;     Though both are foolish, both are strong,     And since, my soul, we cannot fly     To Saturn or Mercury,     Keep we must, if keep we can,     These foreign laws of God and man.

XIII. THE DESERTER

     "What sound awakened me, I wonder,         For now 'tis dumb."     "Wheels on the road most like, or thunder:         Lie down; 'twas not the drum.:     "Toil at sea and two in haven         And trouble far:     Fly, crow, away, and follow, raven,         And all that croaks for war."     "Hark, I heard the bugle crying,         And where am I?     My friends are up and dressed and dying,         And I will dress and die."     "Oh love is rare and trouble plenty         And carrion cheap,     And daylight dear at four-and-twenty:         Lie down again and sleep."     "Reach me my belt and leave your prattle:         Your hour is gone;     But my day is the day of battle,         And that comes dawning on.     "They mow the field of man in season:         Farewell, my fair,     And, call it truth or call it treason,         Farewell the vows that were."     "Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly:         'Tis like the brave.     They find no bed to joy in rightly         Before they find the grave.     "Their love is for their own undoing.         And east and west     They scour about the world a-wooing         The bullet in their breast.     "Sail away the ocean over,         Oh sail away,     And lie there with your leaden lover         For ever and a day."

XIV. THE CULPRIT

     The night my father got me         His mind was not on me;     He did not plague his fancy         To muse if I should be         The son you see.     The day my mother bore me         She was a fool and glad,     For all the pain I cost her,         That she had borne the lad         That borne she had.     My mother and my father         Out of the light they lie;     The warrant would not find them,         And here 'tis only I         Shall hang so high.     Oh let not man remember         The soul that God forgot,     But fetch the county kerchief         And noose me in the knot,         And I will rot.     For so the game is ended         That should not have begun.     My father and my mother         They had a likely son,         And I have none.

XV. EIGHT O'CLOCK

     He stood, and heard the steeple         Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.     One, two, three, four, to market-place and people         It tossed them down.     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.

XVI. SPRING MORNING

     Star and coronal and bell         April underfoot renews,     And the hope of man as well         Flowers among the morning dews.     Now the old come out to look,         Winter past and winter's pains.     How the sky in pool and brook         Glitters on the grassy plains.     Easily the gentle air         Wafts the turning season on;     Things to comfort them are there,         Though 'tis true the best are gone.     Now the scorned unlucky lad         Rousing from his pillow gnawn     Mans his heart and deep and glad         Drinks the valiant air of dawn.     Half the night he longed to die,         Now are sown on hill and plain     Pleasures worth his while to try         Ere he longs to die again.     Blue the sky from east to west         Arches, and the world is wide,     Though the girl he loves the best         Rouses from another's side.

XVII. ASTRONOMY

     The Wain upon the northern steep         Descends and lifts away.     Oh I will sit me down and weep         For bones in Africa.     For pay and medals, name and rank,         Things that he has not found,     He hove the Cross to heaven and sank         The pole-star underground.     And now he does not even see         Signs of the nadir roll     At night over the ground where he         Is buried with the pole.

XVIII

     The rain, it streams on stone and hillock,         The boot clings to the clay.     Since all is done that's due and right     Let's home; and now, my lad, good-night,         For I must turn away.     Good-night, my lad, for nought's eternal;         No league of ours, for sure.     Tomorrow I shall miss you less,     And ache of heart and heaviness         Are things that time should cure.     Over the hill the highway marches         And what's beyond is wide:     Oh soon enough will pine to nought     Remembrance and the faithful thought         That sits the grave beside.     The skies, they are not always raining         Nor grey the twelvemonth through;     And I shall meet good days and mirth,     And range the lovely lands of earth         With friends no worse than you.     But oh, my man, the house is fallen         That none can build again;     My man, how full of joy and woe     Your mother bore you years ago         To-night to lie in the rain.

XIX

     In midnights of November,         When Dead Man's Fair is nigh,     And danger in the valley,         And anger in the sky,     Around the huddling homesteads         The leafless timber roars,     And the dead call the dying         And finger at the doors.     Oh, yonder faltering fingers         Are hands I used to hold;     Their false companion drowses         And leaves them in the cold.     Oh, to the bed of ocean,         To Africk and to Ind,     I will arise and follow         Along the rainy wind.     The night goes out and under         With all its train forlorn;     Hues in the east assemble         And cocks crow up the morn.     The living are the living         And dead the dead will stay,     And I will sort with comrades         That face the beam of day.

XX

     The night is freezing fast,         To-morrow comes December;               And winterfalls of old     Are with me from the past;         And chiefly I remember               How Dick would hate the cold.     Fall, winter, fall; for he,         Prompt hand and headpiece clever,               Has woven a winter robe,     And made of earth and sea         His overcoat for ever,               And wears the turning globe.

XXI

     The fairies break their dances         And leave the printed lawn,     And up from India glances         The silver sail of dawn.     The candles burn their sockets,         The blinds let through the day,     The young man feels his pockets         And wonders what's to pay.

XXII

     The sloe was lost in flower,         The April elm was dim;     That was the lover's hour,         The hour for lies and him.     If thorns are all the bower,         If north winds freeze the fir,     Why, 'tis another's hour,         The hour for truth and her.

XXIII

     In the morning, in the morning,         In the happy field of hay,     Oh they looked at one another         By the light of day.     In the blue and silver morning         On the haycock as they lay,     Oh they looked at one another         And they looked away.

XXIV. EPITHALAMIUM

         He is here, Urania's son,     Hymen come from Helicon;     God that glads the lover's heart,     He is here to join and part.     So the groomsman quits your side     And the bridegroom seeks the bride:     Friend and comrade yield you o'er     To her that hardly loves you more.         Now the sun his skyward beam     Has tilted from the Ocean stream.     Light the Indies, laggard sun:     Happy bridegroom, day is done,     And the star from OEta's steep     Calls to bed but not to sleep.         Happy bridegroom, Hesper brings     All desired and timely things.     All whom morning sends to roam,     Hesper loves to lead them home.     Home return who him behold,     Child to mother, sheep to fold,     Bird to nest from wandering wide:     Happy bridegroom, seek your bride.         Pour it out, the golden cup     Given and guarded, brimming up,     Safe through jostling markets borne     And the thicket of the thorn;     Folly spurned and danger past,     Pour it to the god at last.         Now, to smother noise and light,     Is stolen abroad the wildering night,     And the blotting shades confuse     Path and meadow full of dews;     And the high heavens, that all control,     Turn in silence round the pole.     Catch the starry beams they shed     Prospering the marriage bed,     And breed the land that reared your prime     Sons to stay the rot of time.     All is quiet, no alarms;     Nothing fear of nightly harms.     Safe you sleep on guarded ground,     And in silent circle round     The thoughts of friends keep watch and ward,     Harnessed angels, hand on sword.

XXV. THE ORACLES

     'Tis mute, the word they went to hear on high Dodona mountain         When winds were in the oakenshaws and all the cauldrons tolled,     And mute's the midland navel-stone beside the singing fountain,         And echoes list to silence now where gods told lies of old.     I took my question to the shrine that has not ceased from speaking,         The heart within, that tells the truth and tells it twice as plain;     And from the cave of oracles I heard the priestess shrieking         That she and I should surely die and never live again.     Oh priestess, what you cry is clear, and sound good sense I think it;         But let the screaming echoes rest, and froth your mouth no more.     'Tis true there's better boose than brine, but he that drowns must drink it;         And oh, my lass, the news is news that men have heard before.     The King with half the East at heel is marched from lands of morning;         Their fighters drink the rivers up, their shafts benight the air.     And he that stands will die for nought, and home there's no returning.         The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair.

XXVI

     The half-moon westers low, my love,         And the wind brings up the rain;     And wide apart lie we, my love,         And seas between the twain.     I know not if it rains, my love,         In the land where you do lie;     And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,         You know no more than I.

XXVII

     The sigh that heaves the grasses         Whence thou wilt never rise     Is of the air that passes         And knows not if it sighs.     The diamond tears adorning         Thy low mound on the lea,     Those are the tears of morning,         That weeps, but not for thee.

XXVIII

     Now dreary dawns the eastern light,         And fall of eve is drear,     And cold the poor man lies at night,         And so goes out the year.     Little is the luck I've had,         And oh, 'tis comfort small     To think that many another lad         Has had no luck at all.

XXIX

     Wake not for the world-heard thunder         Nor the chime that earthquakes toll.     Star may plot in heaven with planet,     Lightning rive the rock of granite,     Tempest tread the oakwood under:         Fear not you for flesh nor soul.     Marching, fighting, victory past,     Stretch your limbs in peace at last.     Stir not for the soldiers drilling         Nor the fever nothing cures:     Throb of drum and timbal's rattle     Call but man alive to battle,     And the fife with death-notes filling         Screams for blood but not for yours.     Times enough you bled your best;     Sleep on now, and take your rest.     Sleep, my lad; the French are landed,         London's burning, Windsor's down;     Clasp your cloak of earth about you,     We must man the ditch without you,     March unled and fight short-handed,         Charge to fall and swim to drown.     Duty, friendship, bravery o'er,     Sleep away, lad; wake no more.

XXX. SINNER'S RUE

     I walked alone and thinking,         And faint the nightwind blew     And stirred on mounds at crossways         The flower of sinner's rue.     Where the roads part they bury         Him that his own hand slays,     And so the weed of sorrow         Springs at the four cross ways.     By night I plucked it hueless,         When morning broke 'twas blue:     Blue at my breast I fastened         The flower of sinner's rue.     It seemed a herb of healing,         A balsam and a sign,     Flower of a heart whose trouble         Must have been worse than mine.     Dead clay that did me kindness,         I can do none to you,     But only wear for breastknot         The flower of sinner's rue.

XXXI. HELL'S GATE

         Onward led the road again     Through the sad uncoloured plain     Under twilight brooding dim,     And along the utmost rim     Wall and rampart risen to sight     Cast a shadow not of night,     And beyond them seemed to glow     Bonfires lighted long ago.     And my dark conductor broke     Silence at my side and spoke,     Saying, "You conjecture well:     Yonder is the gate of hell."         Ill as yet the eye could see     The eternal masonry,     But beneath it on the dark     To and fro there stirred a spark.     And again the sombre guide     Knew my question, and replied:     "At hell gate the damned in turn     Pace for sentinel and burn."         Dully at the leaden sky     Staring, and with idle eye     Measuring the listless plain,     I began to think again.     Many things I thought of then,     Battle, and the loves of men,     Cities entered, oceans crossed,     Knowledge gained and virtue lost,     Cureless folly done and said,     And the lovely way that led     To the slimepit and the mire     And the everlasting fire.     And against a smoulder dun     And a dawn without a sun     Did the nearing bastion loom,     And across the gate of gloom     Still one saw the sentry go,     Trim and burning, to and fro,     One for women to admire     In his finery of fire.     Something, as I watched him pace,     Minded me of time and place,     Soldiers of another corps     And a sentry known before.         Ever darker hell on high     Reared its strength upon the sky,     And our footfall on the track     Fetched the daunting echo back.     But the soldier pacing still     The insuperable sill,     Nursing his tormented pride,     Turned his head to neither side,     Sunk into himself apart     And the hell-fire of his heart.     But against our entering in     From the drawbridge Death and Sin     Rose to render key and sword     To their father and their lord.     And the portress foul to see     Lifted up her eyes on me     Smiling, and I made reply:     "Met again, my lass," said I.     Then the sentry turned his head,     Looked, and knew me, and was Ned.         Once he looked, and halted straight,     Set his back against the gate,     Caught his musket to his chin,     While the hive of hell within     Sent abroad a seething hum     As of towns whose king is come     Leading conquest home from far     And the captives of his war,     And the car of triumph waits,     And they open wide the gates.     But across the entry barred     Straddled the revolted guard,     Weaponed and accoutred well     From the arsenals of hell;     And beside him, sick and white,     Sin to left and Death to right     Turned a countenance of fear     On the flaming mutineer.     Over us the darkness bowed,     And the anger in the cloud     Clenched the lightning for the stroke;     But the traitor musket spoke.         And the hollowness of hell     Sounded as its master fell,     And the mourning echo rolled     Ruin through his kingdom old.     Tyranny and terror flown     Left a pair of friends alone,     And beneath the nether sky     All that stirred was he and I.         Silent, nothing found to say,     We began the backward way;     And the ebbing luster died     From the soldier at my side,     As in all his spruce attire     Failed the everlasting fire.     Midmost of the homeward track     Once we listened and looked back;     But the city, dusk and mute,     Slept, and there was no pursuit.