VI
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
  
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
  
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,
The blackbird in the coppice
  
Looked out to see me stride,
And hearkened as I whistled
  
The trampling team beside,
And fluted and replied:
‘Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
  
What use to rise and rise?
Rise man a thousand mornings
  
Yet down at last he lies,
And then the man is wise.’
I heard the tune he sang me,
  
And spied his yellow bill;
I picked a stone and aimed it
  
And threw it with a will:
Then the bird was still.
Then my soul within me
  
Took up the blackbird’s strain,
And still beside the horses
  
Along the dewy lane
It sang the song again:
‘Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
  
The sun moves always west;
The road one treads to labour
  
Will lead one home to rest,
And that will be the best.’
A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad
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