A Shropshire Lad
On yonder island, not to rise,
Never to stir forth free,
Far from his folk a dead lad lies
That once was friends with me.
Never to stir forth free,
Far from his folk a dead lad lies
That once was friends with me.
Lie you easy, dream you light,
And sleep you fast for aye;
And luckier may you find the night
Than ever you found the day.
And sleep you fast for aye;
And luckier may you find the night
Than ever you found the day.
❦
LX
Now hollow fires burn out to black,
And lights are guttering low:
Square your shoulders, lift your pack,
And leave your friends and go.
And lights are guttering low:
Square your shoulders, lift your pack,
And leave your friends and go.
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