Wayside by Edwin Muir Lyrics

We work for soldiers’ pay,
The flesh’s pittance,
Can smell death’s kiss before it close our mouth,
So young we make the creeping worm’s acquaintance.
Common as dandelions men serve their narrow
Sentence.
North or South:
Defeated suns that dustily burn away.

Yet having spent our wage
On splendours fleeting,
The spider soul, conceiving still, takes stock
Of wayside valour, weaves a brittle greeting
From weed to weed, wind-grafted on the rock;
Two braveries meeting,
New God is born, to fire the world with rage.