Last Poems by A. E. Housman

VI. LANCER

 
     I 'listed at home for a lancer,
         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?
     I 'listed at home for a lancer
         To ride on a horse to my grave.
 
 
     And over the seas we were bidden
         A 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 lying
         That learned me the way to behave.
     And showed me my business of dying:
         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?
 
 
     They ask and there is not an answer;
     Says I, I will 'list for a lancer,
         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?
 
 
     And I with the brave shall be sleeping
         At ease on my mattress of loam,
     When back from their taking and keeping
         The squadron is riding home.
 
 
     The wind with the plumes will be playing,
         The girls will stand watching them wave,
     And eyeing my comrades and saying
         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?
 
 
     They ask and there is not an answer;
     Says you, I will 'list for a lancer,
         Oh who would not sleep with the brave?
 

VII

 
     In valleys green and still
         Where lovers wander maying
     They hear from over hill
         A music playing.
 
 
     Behind the drum and fife,
         Past hawthornwood and hollow,
     Through earth and out of life
         The soldiers follow.
 
 
     The soldier's is the trade:
         In any wind or weather
     He steals the heart of maid
         And man together.
 
 
     The lover and his lass
         Beneath the hawthorn lying
     Have heard the soldiers pass,
         And both are sighing.
 
 
     And down the distance they
         With dying note and swelling
     Walk the resounding way
         To the still dwelling.
 

VIII

 
     Soldier from the wars returning,
         Spoiler of the taken town,
     Here is ease that asks not earning;
         Turn you in and sit you down.
 
 
     Peace is come and wars are over,
         Welcome you and welcome all,
     While the charger crops the clover
         And his bridle hangs in stall.
 
 
     Now no more of winters biting,
         Filth in trench from fall to spring,
     Summers full of sweat and fighting
         For the Kesar or the King.
 
 
     Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle;
         Kings and kesars, keep your pay;
     Soldier, sit you down and idle
         At the inn of night for aye.
 

IX

 
     The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
         Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,
     The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.
         Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.
 
 
     There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
         One season ruined of our little store.
     May will be fine next year as like as not:
         Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.
 
 
     We for a certainty are not the first
         Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled
     Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed
         Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.
 
 
     It is in truth iniquity on high
         To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,
     And mar the merriment as you and I
         Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave.
 
 
     Iniquity it is; but pass the can.
         My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore;
     Our only portion is the estate of man:
         We want the moon, but we shall get no more.
 
 
     If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours
         To-morrow it will hie on far behests;
     The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours
         Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts.
 
 
     The troubles of our proud and angry dust
         Are from eternity, and shall not fail.
     Bear them we can, and if we can we must.
         Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
 

X

 
     Could man be drunk for ever
         With liquor, love, or fights,
     Lief should I rouse at morning
         And lief lie down of nights.
 
 
     But men at whiles are sober
         And think by fits and starts,
     And if they think, they fasten
         Their hands upon their hearts.
 

XI

 
     Yonder see the morning blink:
         The sun is up, and up must I,
     To wash and dress and eat and drink
     And look at things and talk and think
         And work, and God knows why.
 
 
     Oh often have I washed and dressed
         And what's to show for all my pain?
     Let me lie abed and rest:
     Ten thousand times I've done my best
         And all's to do again.
 

XII

 
         The laws of God, the laws of man,
     He may keep that will and can;
     Now I:  let God and man decree
     Laws for themselves and not for me;
     And if my ways are not as theirs
     Let them mind their own affairs.
     Their deeds I judge and much condemn,
     Yet when did I make laws for them?
     Please yourselves, say I, and they
     Need only look the other way.
     But no, they will not; they must still
     Wrest their neighbour to their will,
     And make me dance as they desire
     With jail and gallows and hell-fire.
     And how am I to face the odds
     Of man's bedevilment and God's?
     I, a stranger and afraid
     In a world I never made.
     They will be master, right or wrong;
     Though both are foolish, both are strong,
     And since, my soul, we cannot fly
     To Saturn or Mercury,
     Keep we must, if keep we can,
     These foreign laws of God and man.