| Rupert Brooke (1887–1915). Collected Poems. 1916. |
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| VI. Other Poems |
| 6. The Night Journey |
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| 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 | |
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| Glares the imperious mystery of the way. | 5 |
| 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.… | |
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| As a man, caught by some great hour, will rise, | |
| Slow-limbed, to meet the light or find his love; | 10 |
| And, breathing long, with staring sightless eyes, | |
| Hands out, head back, agape and silent, move | |
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| Sure as a flood, smooth as a vast wind blowing; | |
| And, gathering power and purpose as he goes, | |
| Unstumbling, unreluctant, strong, unknowing, | 15 |
| Borne by a will not his, that lifts, that grows, | |
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| 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 | 20 |
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| 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. | |
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| And lips and laughter are forgotten things. | 25 |
| 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. | |
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