Twice A Week The Winter Thorough

Alfred Edward Housman

Twice a week the winter thorough
Here stood I to keep the goal:
Football then was fighting sorrow
For the young man’s soul.

Now in Maytime to the wicket
Out I march with bat and pad:
See the son of grief at cricket
Trying to be glad.

Try I will; no harm in trying:
Wonder ’tis how little mirth
Keeps the bones of man from lying
On the bed of earth.

Next 10 Poems

• 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
• Alfred Edward Housman : When I Watch The Living Meet
• Alfred Edward Housman : When Smoke Stood Up From Ludlow
• Alfred Edward Housman : When The Lad For Longing Sighs
• Alfred Edward Housman : White In The Moon The Long Road Lies
• Alfred Edward Housman : With Rue My Heart Is Laden
• Alfred Edward Housman : You Smile Upon Your Friend To-day

Previous 10 Poems

• Alfred Edward Housman : To An Athlete Dying Young
• Alfred Edward Housman : Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town
• Alfred Edward Housman : This Time Of Year A Twelvemonth Past
• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad; Laugh, Be Jolly
• Alfred Edward Housman : Think No More, Lad
• Alfred Edward Housman : There Pass The Careless People
• 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