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.

1. More Poems. 11. The Rainy Pleiads Wester
2. More Poems. 25. Yon Flakes that Fret the Eastern Sky
3. More Poems. 15. Tarry, Delight; so Seldom Met
4. More Poems. 40. Farewell to a Name and a Number
5. Look Not In My Eyes, For Fear

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