Now hollow fires burn out to black,
And lights are guttering low:
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 tread
There's nothing but the night.
More verses by Alfred Edward Housman
- Xii: He Would Not Stay With Me And Who Can Wonder
- Xxvi: The Half-Moon Westers Low My Love
- Goodnight
- When I Came Last To Ludlow
- Westward On The High-Hilled Plains