REVEILLE
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ake: the silver dusk returningUp the beach of darkness brims,And the ship of sunrise burningStrands upon the eastern rims. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,Trampled to the floor it spanned,And the tent of night in tattersStraws 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 leatherLived to feast his heart with all. Up, lad: thews that lie and cumberSunlit pallets never thrive;Morns abed and daylight slumberWere not meant for man alive. Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;Breath's a ware that will not keepUp, lad: when the journey's overThere'll be time enough to sleep. V Oh see how thick the goldcup flowersAre lying in field and lane,With dandelions to tell the hoursThat never are told again.Oh may I squire you round the meadsAnd pick you posies gay?-'Twill do no harm to take my arm."You may, young man, you may." Ah, spring was sent for lass and lad,'Tis now the blood runs gold,And man and maid had best be gladBefore the world is old.What flowers to-day may flower to-morrow,But never as good as new.-Suppose I wound my arm right round-" 'Tis true, young man, 'tis true." Some lads there are, 'tis shame to say,That only court to thieve,And once they bear the bloom away'Tis little enough they leave.Then keep your heart for men like meAnd safe from trustless chaps.My love is true and all for you."Perhaps, young man, perhaps." Oh, look in my eyes, then, can you doubt?-Why, 'tis a mile from town.How green the grass is all about!We might as well sit down.-Ah, life, what is it but a flower?Why must true lovers sigh?Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty,-"Good-bye, young man, good-bye."
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