All night the ways of Heaven were desolate, <br /> Long roads across a gleaming empty sky. <br /> Outcast and doomed and driven, you and I, <br />Alone, serene beyond all love or hate, <br />Terror or triumph, were content to wait, <br /> We, silent and all-knowing. Suddenly <br /> Swept through the heaven low-crouching from on high, <br />One horseman, downward to the earth's low gate. <br /> <br />Oh, perfect from the ultimate height of living, <br /> Lightly we turned, through wet woods blossom-hung, <br />Into the open. Down the supernal roads, <br /> With plumes a-tossing, purple flags far flung, <br />Rank upon rank, unbridled, unforgiving, <br /> Thundered the black battalions of the Gods.<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/victory-3/
