VIII. THE FAREWELL

By Edward Shanks

Farewell to rising early, now comes the lying late,

And long on the parade-ground my company shall wait

Before I come to join it on mornings cold and dark

And no more shall I lead it across the rimy park.

The men shall still manoeuvre in sunshine and in rain

And still they'll make the blunders I shall not check again;

They'll march upon the highway in weather foul and fair

And talk and sing with laughter and I shall not be there.