Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

       Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof

       Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest

       Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.

Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,

       Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.

       All of the night was quite barred out except

       An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry

Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,

       No merry note, nor cause of merriment,

       But one telling me plain what I escaped

       And others could not, that night, as in I went.

And salted was my food, and my repose,

       Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice

       Speaking for all who lay under the stars,

       Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.

Rise up, rise up,
And, as the trumpet blowing
Chases the dreams of men,
As the dawn glowing
The stars that left unlit
The land and water,
Rise up and scatter
The dew that covers
The print of last night’s lovers—
Scatter it, scatter it!

While you are listening
To the clear horn,
Forget, men, everything
On this earth new-born,
Except that it is lovelier
Than any mysteries.
Open your eyes to the air
That has washed the eyes of the stars
Through all the dewy night:
Up with the light,
To the old wars:
Arise, arise.