Poems From "A Shropshire Lad" - IV - 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.