Not this week nor this month dare I lie down <br />In languour under lime trees or smooth smile. <br />Love must not kiss my face pale that is brown. <br /> <br />My lips, parting, shall drink space, mile by mile; <br />Strong meats be all my hunger; my renown <br />Be the clean beauty of speed and pride of style. <br /> <br />Cold winds encountered on the racing Down <br />Shall thrill my heated bareness; but awhile <br />None else may meet me till I wear my crown.<br /><br />Wilfred Owen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/training/
