Wake: the silver dusk returning 
Up the beach of darkness brims, 
And the ship of sunrise burning 
Strands upon the eastern rims. 

Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters, 
Trampled to the floor it spanned, 
And the tent of night in tatters 
Straws the sky-pavilioned land. 
 
Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying: 
Hear the drums of morning play; 
Hark, the empty highways crying 
'Who '11 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.