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Rupert Brooke - The Wayfarers
Work rating: Medium

	Is it the hour?  We leave this resting-place
	Made fair by one another for a while.
	Now, for a god-speed, one last mad embrace;
	The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
	Ah! the long road! and you so far away!
	Oh, I`ll remember! but . . . each crawling day
	Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
	Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.

	. . . Do you think there`s a far border town, somewhere,
	The desert`s edge, last of the lands we know,
	   Some gaunt eventual limit of our light,
	In which I`ll find you waiting; and we`ll go
	Together, hand in hand again, out there,
	   Into the waste we know not, into the night?
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