Housmania

I was first introduced to A.E. Housman (1859-1936) by my professor of 17th c. poetry back in undergrad. He saw that I was always picking up on and excited about classical references in our Marvell, Donne, et al., so he told me to check out A.E. Housman's To An Athlete Dying Young, which echoes Pindaric odes. When I came to graduate school, I learned that Housman was a classicist as well as poet-- in fact, the best of his generation, particularly known as a textual critic. So today I thought I'd post that poem, which is good even without Pindar in your pocket.

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears;

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.