Poem by Rupert Chawner Brooke

The Night Journey

 Hands and lit faces eddy to a line;
   The dazed last minutes click; the clamour dies.
 Beyond the great-swung arc o' the roof, divine,
   Night, smoky-scarv'd, with thousand coloured eyes

 Glares the imperious mystery of the way.
   Thirsty for dark, you feel the long-limbed train
 Throb, stretch, thrill motion, slide, pull out and sway,
   Strain for the far, pause, draw to strength again....

 As a man, caught by some great hour, will rise,
   Slow-limbed, to meet the light or find his love;
 And, breathing long, with staring sightless eyes,
   Hands out, head back, agape and silent, move

 Sure as a flood, smooth as a vast wind blowing;
   And, gathering power and purpose as he goes,
 Unstumbling, unreluctant, strong, unknowing,
   Borne by a will not his, that lifts, that grows,

 Sweep out to darkness, triumphing in his goal,
   Out of the fire, out of the little room....
 --There is an end appointed, O my soul!
   Crimson and green the signals burn; the gloom

 Is hung with steam's far-blowing livid streamers.
   Lost into God, as lights in light, we fly,
 Grown one with will, end-drunken huddled dreamers.
   The white lights roar. The sounds of the world die.

 And lips and laughter are forgotten things.
   Speed sharpens; grows. Into the night, and on,
 The strength and splendour of our purpose swings.
   The lamps fade; and the stars. We are alone.

1. The Great Lover
2. Fragment on Painters
3. The Jolly Company
4. Song (The way of love was thus)
5. It's Not Going to Happen Again

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