Page:Collected poems of Rupert Brooke.djvu/42

 THE SONG OF THE PILGRIMS

(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)

light of unremembered skies

Hast thou relumed within our eyes,

Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . ..

A certain odour on the wind,

Thy hidden face beyond the west,

These things have called us; on a quest

Older than any road we trod,

More endless than desire. . ..

Far God,

Sigh with thy cruel voice, that fills

The soul with longing for dim hills

And faint horizons! For there come

Grey moments of the antient dumb

Sickness of travel, when no song

Can cheer us; but the way seems long;

And one remembers. . ..

Ah! the beat

Of weary unreturning feet,

And songs of pilgrims unreturning! . ..

The fires we left are always burning

On the old shrines of home. Our kin

Have built them temples, and therein

Pray to the Gods we know; and dwell