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 

Glares the imperious mystery of the way.
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.? 

As a man, caught by some great hour, will rise, 
Slow-limbed, to meet the light or find his love;
And, breathing long, with staring sightless eyes, 
Hands out, head back, agape and silent, move 

Sure as a flood, smooth as a vast wind blowing; 
And, gathering power and purpose as he goes, 
Unstumbling, unreluctant, strong, unknowing,
Borne by a will not his, that lifts, that grows, 

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

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. 

And lips and laughter are forgotten things.
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.