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.