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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SARAH'S MONSTERS by KAREN SWENSON MORITURI SALUTAMUS [WE WHO ARE TO DIE SALUTE YOU] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 1ST SERIES: 8 by EDWARD TAYLOR ON A FOUNTAIN AND ITS ARCHITECT by PHILIP AYRES BAB-LOCK-HYTHE by LAURENCE BINYON THE KILN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ON KNOWING WHEN TO STOP by L. J. BRIDGMAN DEDICATORY SONNET TO S. T. COLERIDGE by DAVID HARTLEY COLERIDGE |