| 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, | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| |
| 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. | |
