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Yehoshua, A. B.
(Encyclopedia) Yehoshua, A. B. (Abraham, or Avraham, “Bulli” Yehoshua), 1936–, Israeli writer.He has taught at several schools, and since 1967 has lived in Haifa, where he teaches at the city's…A. E. Housman: Along the fields as we came by
Along the fields as we came by A year ago, my love and I, The aspen over stile and stone Was talking to itself alone. "Oh who are these that kiss and pass? A country lover and his lass; Two…A. E. Housman: As through the wild green hills of Wyre
As through the wild green hills of Wyre The train ran, changing sky and shire, And far behind, a fading crest, Low in the forsaken west Sank the high-reared head of Clee, My hand lay empty…A. E. Housman: Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle, Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong. Think rather,—call to thought, if now you grieve a little, The days…A. E. Housman: Bredon Hill
Bredon HillIn summertime on Bredon[1] The bells they sound so clear; Round both the shires they ring them In steeples far and near, A happy noise to hear.Here of a Sunday morning My love…A. E. Housman: Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw, No cypress, sombre on the snow; Snap not from the bitter yew His leaves that live December through; Break no rosemary, bright with rime And sparkling…A. E. Housman: Clunton and Clunbury,
Clunton and Clunbury, Clungunford and Clun, Are the quietest places Under the sun.In valleys of springs of rivers, By Ony and Teme and Clun, The country for easy livers, The quietest…A. E. Housman: Far in a western brookland
Far in a western brookland That bred me long ago The poplars stand and tremble By pools I used to know.There, in the windless night-time, The wanderer, marvelling why, Halts on the bridge…A. E. Housman: "Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
"Farewell to barn and stack and tree, Farewell to Severn shore. Terence, look your last at me, For I come home no more."The sun burns on the half-mown hill, By now the blood is dried; And…A. E. Housman: From far, from eve and morning
From far, from eve and morning And yon twelve-winded sky, The stuff of life to knit me Blew hither: here am I.Now— for a breath I tarry Nor yet disperse apart— Take my hand quick and tell…Trending
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