Leave your home behind, lad, <br />And reach your friends your hand, <br />And go, and luck go with you <br />While Ludlow tower shall stand. <br /> <br />Oh, come you home of Sunday <br />When Ludlow streets are still <br />And Ludlow bells are calling <br />To farm and lane and mill, <br /> <br />Or come you home of Monday <br />When Ludlow market hums <br />And Ludlow chimes are playing <br />"The conquering hero comes," <br /> <br />Come you home a hero, <br />Or come not home at all, <br />The lads you leave will mind you <br />Till Ludlow tower shall fall. <br /> <br />And you will list the bugle <br />That blows in lands of morn, <br />And make the foes of England <br />Be sorry you were born. <br /> <br />And you till trump of doomsday <br />On lands of morn may lie, <br />And make the hearts of comrades <br />Be heavy where you die. <br /> <br />Leave your home behind you, <br />Your friends by field and town: <br />Oh, town and field will mind you <br />Till Ludlow tower is down.<br /><br />Alfred Edward Housman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-recruit/
