A. E. Housman (1859–1936). A Shropshire Lad. 1896.

LX. Now hollow fires burn out to black

NOW hollow fires burn out to black,

And lights are guttering low:

Square your shoulders, lift your pack,

And leave your friends and go.

Oh never fear, man, nought’s to dread,

Look not left nor right:

In all the endless road you tread

There’s nothing but the night.