There Pass The Careless People

Alfred Edward Housman

There pass the careless people
That call their souls their own:
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.

Ah, past the plunge of plummet,
In seas I cannot sound,
My heart and soul and senses,
World without end, are drowned.

His folly has not fellow
Beneath the blue of day
That gives to man or woman
His heart and soul away.

There flowers no balm to sain him
From east of earth to west
That’s lost for everlasting
The heart out of his breast.

Here by the labouring highway
With empty hands I stroll:
Sea-deep, till doomsday morning,
Lie lost my heart and soul.

Next 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad
• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad; Laugh, Be Jolly
• Alfred Edward Housman : This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past
• Alfred Edward Housman : Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town
• Alfred Edward Housman : To An Athlete Dying Young
• Alfred Edward Housman : Twice A Week The Winter Thorough
• Alfred Edward Housman : Wake Not For The World-heard Thunder
• Alfred Edward Housman : Westward On The High-hilled Plains
• Alfred Edward Housman : When I Came Last To Ludlow
• Alfred Edward Housman : When I Was One-and-twenty

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : The Winds Out Of The West Land Blow
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Welsh Marches
• Alfred Edward Housman : The True Lover
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Street Sounds To The Soldiers' Tread
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Stinging Nettle
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Recruit
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Rainy Pleiads Wester
• Alfred Edward Housman : The New Mistress
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Merry Guide
• Alfred Edward Housman : The Lent Lily