Strands upon the eastern rims.
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ake: 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 slumber
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