Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share Image
On the idle hill of summer, Sleepy with the flow of streams, — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share Image
Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty… — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share Image
It's lucky you're going so slowly, because you're going in the wrong direction — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share Image
“The heart from out the bosom Was never given in vain But bought with sighs aplenty And sold for endless rue And now I… — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share Image
Little is the luck I've had, And oh, 'tis comfort small - To think that many another lad - Has had no luck at all — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share
And malt does more than Milton can To justify the ways of God to man. — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share Image
On the idle hill of summer, Sleepy with the flow of streams, — Alfred Edward Housman Copy Share Image
