Additional Poems

Additional Poems written by Alfred Edward Housman

I. Atys

"Lydians, lords of Hermus river,
    Sifters of the golden loam,
See you yet the lances quiver
    And the hunt returning home?"

"King, the star that shuts the even
    Calls the sheep from Tmolus down;
Home return the doves from heaven,
    And the prince to Sardis town."

From the hunting heavy laden
    Up the Mysian road they ride;
And the star that mates the maiden
    Leads his son to Croesus' side.

"Lydians, under stream and fountain
    Finders of the golden vein,
Riding from Olympus mountain,
    Lydians, see you Atys plain?"

"King, I see the Phrygian stranger
    And the guards in hunter's trim,
Saviours of thy son from danger;
    Them I see. I see not him."

"Lydians, as the troop advances,
    —It is eve and I am old—
Tell me why they trail their lances,
    Washers of the sands of gold.

"I am old and day is ending
    And the wildering night comes on;
Up the Mysian entry wending,
    Lydians, Lydians, what is yon?"

Hounds behind their master whining,
    Huntsmen pacing dumb beside,
On his breast the boar-spear shining,
    Home they bear his father's pride.

II.

Oh were he and I together,
    Shipmates on the fleeted main,
Sailing through the summer weather
    To the spoil of France or Spain.

Oh were he and I together,
    Locking hands and taking leave,
Low upon the trampled heather
    In the battle lost at eve.

Now are he and I asunder
    And asunder to remain;
Kingdoms are for others' plunder,
    And content for other slain.

III.

When Adam walked in Eden young
    Happy, 'tis writ, was he,
While high the fruit of knowledge hung
    Unbitten on the tree.

Happy was he the livelong day:
    I doubt 'tis written wrong:
The heart of man, for all they say,
    Was never happy long.

And now my feet are tired of rest
    And here they will not stay
And the soul fevers in my breast
    And aches to be away.

IV.

It is no gift I tender,
    A loan is all I can;
But do not scorn the leader;
    Man gets no more from man.

Oh, mortal man may borrow
    What mortal man can lend,
And 'twill not end tomorrow
    Though sure enough 'twill end.

If death and time are stronger
    A love may yet be strong;
The world will last for longer
    But this will last for long.

V.

Here are the skies, the planets seven,
    And all the starry train:
Content you with the mimic heaven,
    And on the earth remain.

VI.

Ask me no more, for fear I should reply;
    Others have held their tongues, and so can I,
Hundreds have died, and told no tale befoer:
    Ask me no more, for fear I should reply—

How one was true and one was clean of stain
    And one was braver than the heavens are high,
And one was fond of me: and all are slain.
    Ask me no more, for fear I should reply.

VII.

He would not stay for me; and who can wonder?
    He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.
I shook his hand and tore my heart in sunder
    And went with half my life about my ways.

VIII.

Now to her lap the incestuous earth
    The son she bore has ta'en,
And other sons brings to birth
    But not my friend again.

IX.

When the bells justle in the tower
    The hollow night amid,
Then on my tongue the taste is sour
    Of all I ever did.

X.

Oh on my breast in days hereafter
    Light the earth should lie,
Such weight to bear is now the air,
    So heavy hangs the sky.

XI.

Morning up the eastern stair
Marches, azuring the air,
And the foot of twilight still
Is stolen toward the western sill.
Blithe the maids go milking, blithe
Men in hayfields stone the scythe,
All the land's alive around
Except the churchyard's idle ground.
—There's empty acres west and east
But aye 'tis God's that bears the least:
This hopeless garden that they sow
With the seeds that never grow.

XI.A

—They shall have breath that never were,
But he that was shall have it ne'er;
The unconcieved and unbegot
Shall look on heaven, but he shall not.

—The heart with many wildfires lit,
Ice is not so cold as it.
The thirst that rivers could not lay
A little dust has quenched for aye;
And in a fathom's compass lie
Thoughts much wider than the sky.

XII.

Stay, if you list, O passer by the way;
Yet night approaches: better not to stay.
    I never sigh, nor flush, nor knit the brow,
    Nor frieve to think how ill God made me, now.
Here, with one balm for many fevers found,
Whole of an ancient evil, I sleep sound.

XIII.

Oh turn not in from marching
    To taverns on the way:
The drought and thirst and parching
    A little dust will lay
    And take desire away.

Oh waste no words a wooing
    The soft sleep to your bed;
She is not worth pursuing,
    You will so soon be dead
    And death will serve instead.