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.
(From "Reveille," one of the 63 poems in his book, A Shropshire Lad, which was published in 1896.)
Posts
