Eight O'clock

Alfred Edward Housman

He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.

Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck. 

Next 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : Epitaph On An Army Of Mercenaries
• Alfred Edward Housman : Far In A Western Brookland
• Alfred Edward Housman : Farewell To Barn And Stack And Tree
• Alfred Edward Housman : Fragment Of A Greek Tragedy
• Alfred Edward Housman : From Far, From Eve And Morning
• Alfred Edward Housman : Here Dead We Lie
• Alfred Edward Housman : Ho, Everyone That Thirsteth
• Alfred Edward Housman : Hughley Steeple
• Alfred Edward Housman : I Hoed And Trenched And Weeded
• Alfred Edward Housman : If By Chance Your Eye Offend You

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : Diffugere Nives ( Horace, Odes 4.7 )
• Alfred Edward Housman : Could Man Be Drunk Forever
• Alfred Edward Housman : Clunton And Clunbury
• Alfred Edward Housman : Bring, In This Timeless Grave To Throw
• Alfred Edward Housman : Bredon Hill
• Alfred Edward Housman : Be Still, My Soul, Be Still; The Arms You Bear Are Brittle
• Alfred Edward Housman : Be Still, My Soul, Be Still
• Alfred Edward Housman : As Through The Wild Green Hills Of Wyre
• Alfred Edward Housman : Along The Field As We Came By
• Alfred Edward Housman : 1887