A Shropshire Lad - XXII

by A. E. Housman

　　

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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.

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