A Shropshire Lad - XXII

by A. E. Housman

    The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
    And out we troop to see:
    A single redcoat turns his head,
    He turns and looks at me.

    My man, from sky to sky's so far,
    We never crossed before;
    Such leagues apart the world's ends are,
    We're like to meet no more;

    What thoughts at heart have you and I
    We cannot stop to tell;
    But dead or living, drunk or dry,
    Soldier, I wish you well.