Shoulder The Sky, My Lad, And Drink

These, In The Day When Heaven Was Falling, The Hour When Earth's Foundations Fled, Followed Their Mercenary Calling And Took Their Wages And Are Dead. The British Regulars Who Made The Retreat From Mons, Beginning August 24, 1914.

But Men At Whiles Are Sober And Think By Fits And Starts. And If They Think, They Fasten Their Hands Upon Their Hearts

Therefore, Since The World Has Still Much Good, But Much Less Good Than Ill

Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black, And Lights Are Guttering Low: Square Your Shoulders, Lift Your Pack And Leave Your Friends And Go.

Housman Is One Of My Heroes And Always Has Been. He Was A Detestable And Miserable Man. Arrogant, Unspeakably Lonely, Cruel, And So On, But And Absolutely Marvellous Minor Poet, I Think, And A Great Scholar.