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	Alfred Edward Housman
	(1859-1936)

Along the field as we came by
ALONG the field as we came by
As through the wild green hills of Wyre
AS through the wild green hills of Wyre
Be still, my soul, be still
BE still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw
BRING, in this timeless grave to throw
Fragment of a Greek Tragedy
CHORUS: O suitably-attired-in-leather-boots
Loveliest of Trees
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
To an Athlete Dying Young
The time you won your town the race
When I was one-and-twenty
WHEN I was one-and-twenty
With rue my heart is laden
With rue my heart is laden

Alfred Edward Housman