Page:Collected poems of Rupert Brooke.djvu/103

 VICTORY

night the ways of Heaven were desolate,

Long roads across a gleaming empty sky.

Outcast and doomed and driven, you and I,

Alone, serene beyond all love or hate,

Terror or triumph, were content to wait,

We, silent and all-knowing. Suddenly

Swept through the heaven low-crouching from on high,

One horseman, downward to the earth's low gate.

Oh, perfect from the ultimate height of living,

Lightly we turned, through wet woods blossom-hung,

Into the open. Down the supernal roads,

With plumes a-tossing, purple flags far flung,

Rank upon rank, unbridled, unforgiving,

Thundered the black battalions of the Gods.