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The Recruit a poem
 by A. E. Housman


THE RECRUIT

Leave your home behind, lad, 
And reach your friends your hand, 
And go, and luck go with you 
While Ludlow tower shall stand. 

Oh, come you home of Sunday 
When Ludlow streets are still 
And Ludlow bells are calling 
To farm and lane and mill, 

Or come you home of Monday 
When Ludlow market hums 
And Ludlow chimes are playing 
"The conquering hero comes," 

Come you home a hero, 
Or come not home at all, 
The lads you leave will mind you 
Till Ludlow tower shall fall. 

And you will list the bugle 
That blows in lands of morn, 
And make the foes of England 
Be sorry you were born. 

And you till trump of doomsday 
On lands of morn may lie, 
And make the hearts of comrades 
Be heavy where you die. 

Leave your home behind you, 
Your friends by field and town: 
Oh, town and field will mind you 
Till Ludlow tower is down.

A.E. Housman

 

 
The Recruit poem A. E. Housman

 

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