XXIX.
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ake not for the world-heard thunderNor the chime that earthquakes toll.Star may plot in heaven with planet,Lightning rive the rock of granite,Tempest tread the oakwood under:Fear not you for flesh nor soul.Marching, fighting, victory past,Stretch your limbs in peace at last. Stir not for the soldiers drillingNor the fever nothing cures:Throb of drum and timbal's rattleCall but man alive to battle,And the fife with death-notes fillingScreams for blood but not for yours.Times enough you bled your best;Sleep on now, and take your rest. Sleep, my lad; the French are landed,London's burning, Windsor's down;Clasp your cloak of earth about you,We must man the ditch without you,March unled and fight short-handed,Charge to fall and swim to drown.Duty, friendship, bravery o'er,Sleep away, lad; wake no more.
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