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Poem by Alfred Edward Housman


A Shropshire Lad. 48. Be Still, My Soul, Be Still


Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.
Think rather,-- call to thought, if now you grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long.

Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry
I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:
Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born.

Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun.
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.

Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:
Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation--
Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again? 



Alfred Edward Housman


Alfred Edward Housman's other poems:
  1. More Poems. 9. When Green Buds Hang in the Elm Like Dust
  2. More Poems. 40. Farewell to a Name and a Number
  3. Additional Poems. 2. Oh Were He and I Together
  4. Additional Poems. 11a. They Shall Have Breath that Never Were
  5. More Poems. 37. I Did Not Lose My Heart in SummerТs Even


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