Page:A Shropshire lad (IA shropshirelad00hous).pdf/21

 {{ppoem|start=stanza|end=close| 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.}}