Flight

Rupert Brooke

Voices out of the shade that cried,
 And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
 And country eyes, and quiet faces --
 All these were round my steady paces.
Those that I could have loved went by me;
 Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;
I heard the whisper of water nigh me,
 Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were gone
 In the green and gold.  And I went on.
For if my echoing footfall slept,
 Soon a far whispering there'd be
Of a little lonely wind that crept
 From tree to tree, and distantly
 Followed me, followed me. . . .
But the blue vaporous end of day
 Brought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,
Where between pine-woods dipped the way.
 I turned, slipped in and out of sight.
 I trod as quiet as the night.
The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;
 And in the boughs wind never swirled.
I found a flowering lowly bush,
 And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,
 Hidden at rest from all the world.
Safe!  I was safe, and glad, I knew!
 Yet -- with cold heart and cold wet brows
I lay.  And the dark fell. . . .  There grew
 Meward a sound of shaken boughs;
 And ceased, above my intricate house;
And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .
 I felt the unfaltering movement creep
Among the leaves.  They shed around me
 Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;
 And stroked my face.  I fell asleep.

Index + Blog :

Poetry Archive Index | Blog : Poem of the Day