A. E. Housman — Reveille

                  IV          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.