47 ordspråk av A. E. Housman
A. E. Housman
If a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
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In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
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Into my heart an air that kills / From yon far country blows: / What are those blue remembered hills, / What spires, what farms are those?
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Loveliest of trees, the cherry now / Is hung with bloom along the bough.
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Lovers lying two by two / Ask not whom they sleep beside, / And the bridegroom all night through / Never turns him to the bride.
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Made of earth and sea / His overcoat for ever, / And wears the turning globe.
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Malt does more than Milton can to justify God's ways to man.
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May will be fine next year as like as not: / Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.
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Mithridates, he died old.
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No change, though you lie under / The land you used to plough.
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Now, of my threescore years and ten, / Twenty will not come again.
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O Queen of air and darkness,
I think 'tis truth you say,
And I shall die to-morrow;
But you will die to-day.
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Oh, when I was in love with you, / Then I was clean and brave.
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Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.
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Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.
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