Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

A Shropshire Lad. 22. The Street Sounds to the Soldiers' Tread

The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
 And out we troop to see:
A single redcoat turns his head,
 He turns and looks at me.

My man, from sky to sky's so far,
 We never crossed before;
Such leagues apart the world's ends are,
 We're like to meet no more;

What thoughts at heart have you and I
 We cannot stop to tell;
But dead or living, drunk or dry,
 Soldier, I wish you well.

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