LXII: Terence, This is Stupid Stuff (A E Housman Poems)
Terence, this is stupid stuff! You eat your victuals fast enough; There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, To see ...
Terence, this is stupid stuff! You eat your victuals fast enough; There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, To see ...
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, The doors clap to, ...
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns, The shires have seen it plain, From north and south the sign returns ...
Oh, sick I am to see you, will you never let me be? You may be good for something, but ...
The queen she sent to look for me, The sergeant he did say,'Young man, a soldier will you be For ...
Farewell to a name and a number Recalled againTo darkness and silence and slumber In blood and pain. So ceases ...
The stinging nettle only Will still be found to stand: The numberless, the lonely, The thronger of the land, The ...
From Clee to heaven the beacon burns, The shires have seen it plain, From north and south the sign returns ...
"Oh, sick I am to see you, will you never let me be? You may be good for something, but ...
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, The doors clap to, ...
'TERENCE, this is stupid stuff: You eat your victuals fast enough; There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, To see ...
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