Alfred Edward Housman (Альфред Эдвард Хаусман (Хаусмен))

* * *

Wake not for the world-heard thunder,
Nor the chimes that earthquakes toll;
Stars may plot in heaven with planet,
Lightning rive the rock of granite,
Tempest tread the oakwood under,
Fear not you for flesh or soul;
Marching, fighting, victory past,
Stretch your limbs in peace at last.

Stir not for the soldier's drilling,
Nor the fever nothing cures;
Throb of drum and timbal's rattle
Call but men alive to battle,
And the fife with death-notes filling
Screams for blood--but not for yours.
Times enough you bled your best;
Sleep on now, and take your rest.

Sleep, my lad; the French have landed,
London's burning, Windsor's down.
Clasp your cloak of earth about you;
We must man the ditch without you,
March unled and fight short-handed,
Charge to fall and swim to drown.
Duty, friendship, bravery o'er,
Sleep away, lad; wake no more. 

1. More Poems. 33. On Forelands High in Heaven
2. Last Poems. 22. The Sloe Was Lost in Flower
3. Last Poems. 39. When Summer’s End Is Nighing
4. A Shropshire Lad. 56. The Day of Battle
5. More Poems. 46. The Land of Biscay

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