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'll 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.