A Shropshire Lad/Reveille

by Alfred Edward Housman

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.

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