Collected Poems of Rupert Brooke — Flight

Flight 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.

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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.

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There grew Meward a sound of shaken boughs;

And ceased, above my intricate house;