A.E. Housman (1859-1936)

When I Was One-and-Twenty

When I was one-and-twenty
        I heard a wise man say,
``Give crowns and pounds and guineas,
        But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
        But keep your fancy free.''
But I was one-and-twenty,
        No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
        I heard him say again,
``The heart out of the bosom
        Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid in sighs aplenty
        And sold for endless rue.''
And I am two-and-twenty,
        And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

To an Athlete Dying Young

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the marketplace;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honors out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.

Eight o'Clock

He stood, and heard the steeple
        Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to marketplace 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.