Poem by Alfred Edward Housman

A Shropshire Lad. 60. Now Hollow Fires Burn out to Black

Now hollow fires burn out to black,
 And lights are guttering low:
Square your shoulders, lift your pack,
 And leave your friends and go.

Oh never fear, man, nought's to dread,
 Look not left nor right:
In all the endless road you tread
 There's nothing but the night.

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