I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,
And went with half my life about my ways.
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The world goes none the lamer
Because this cursed troubleHas struck my days and me.The stars of heaven are steady,The founded hills remain,Though I to earth and darknessReturn in blood and pain.Farewell to all belongingsI won or bought or stole;Farewell, my lusty carcase,Farewell, my aery soul.Oh worse remains for othersAnd worse to fear had IThan here at four-and-twentyTo lay me down…
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,
Think rather,– call to thought, if now you grieve a little,The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long.Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarryI slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:Then it was well with…
I ‘listed at home for a lancer,
I ‘listed at home for a lancerTo ride on a horse to my grave.And over the seas we were biddenA country to take and to keep;And far with the brave I have ridden,And now with the brave I shall sleep.For round me the men will be lyingThat learned me the way to behave,And showed me…
Now hollow fires burn out to black,
Square your shoulders, lift your pack,And leave your friends and go.Oh never fear, man, nought’s to dread,Look not to left nor right:In all the endless road you treadThere’s nothing but the night.
Into my heart an air that kills
What are those blue remembered hills,What spires, what farms are those?That is the land of lost content,I see it shining plain,The happy highways where I wentAnd cannot come again.
Home is the sailor, home from sea:
The ship pours shining on the quayThe plunder of the world.Home is the hunter from the hill:Fast in the boundless snareAll flesh lies taken at his willAnd every fowl of air.‘Tis evening on the moorland free,The starlit wave is still:Home is the sailor from the sea,The hunter from the hill.