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Poem by Alfred Edward Housman


A Shropshire Lad. 4. Reveille


Wake: the silver dusk returning
  Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
  Strands upon the eastern rims.
 
Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
  Trampled to the floor it spanned,
And the tent of night in tatters
  Straws the sky-pavilioned land.
 
Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying:
  Hear the drums of morning play;
Hark, the empty highways crying
  `Who'll beyond the hills away?'
 
Towns and countries woo together,
  Forelands beacon, belfries call;
Never lad that trod on leather
  Lived to feast his heart with all.
 
Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber
  Sunlit pallets never thrive;
Morns abed and daylight slumber
  Were not meant for man alive.
 
Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;
  Breath's a ware that will not keep.
Up, lad: when the journey's over
  There'll be time enough to sleep.



Alfred Edward Housman


Alfred Edward Housman's other poems:
  1. Additional Poems. 1. Atys
  2. Additional Poems. 2. Oh Were He and I Together
  3. Last Poems. 22. The Sloe Was Lost in Flower
  4. More Poems. 9. When Green Buds Hang in the Elm Like Dust
  5. Additional Poems. 11a. They Shall Have Breath that Never Were


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