A. E. Housman — The street sounds to the soldiers tread

                  XXII          The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,          And out we troop to see: A single redcoat turns his head,          He turns and looks at me.          My man, from sky to sky's so far,          We never crossed before; Such leagues apart the world's ends are,          We're like to meet no more;          What thoughts at heart have you and I          We cannot stop to tell; But dead or living, drunk or dry,          Soldier, I wish you well.