Page:Collected poems of Rupert Brooke.djvu/50

 Till Heaven cracks, and Hell thereunder

Dies in her ultimate mad fire,

And darkness falls, with scornful thunder,

On dreams of men and men's desire.

Then only in the empty spaces,

Death, walking very silently,

Shall fear the glory of our faces

Through all the dark infinity.

So, clothed about with perfect love,

The eternal end shall find us one,

Alone above the Night, above

The dust of the dead gods, alone.