We Flash Across The Level

We flash across the level.
We thunder thro' the bridges.
We bicker down the cuttings.
We sway along the ridges.

A rush of streaming hedges,
Of jostling lights and shadows,
Of hurtling, hurrying stations,
Of racing woods and meadows.

We charge the tunnels headlong -
The blackness roars and shatters.
We crash between embankments -
The open spins and scatters.

We shake off the miles like water,
We might carry a royal ransom;
And I think of her waiting, waiting,
And long for a common hansom.

1876

William Ernest Henley

William Ernest Henley was an English poet, critic, and editor. Despite battling tuberculosis from a young age, Henley is best known for his resilience and strength, qualities exemplified in his most famous poem, 'Invictus'. Henley was also a notable figure in the literary circles of his time, befriending and influencing key writers, such as Robert Louis Stevenson, who modeled the character Long John Silver after him.

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London Voluntaries - To Charles Whibley - II - Andante Con Moto

Forth from the dust and din,
The crush, the heat, the many-spotted glare,
The odour and sense of life and lust aflare,
The wrangle and jangle of unrests,
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As from swart August to the green lap of May -
To quietness and the fresh and fragrant breasts
Of the still, delicious night, not yet aware
In any of her innumerable nests
Of that first sudden plash of dawn,
Clear, sapphirine, luminous, large,
Which tells that soon the flowing springs of day
In deep and ever deeper eddies drawn
Forward and up, in wider and wider way,
Shall float the sands, and brim the shores,
On this our lith of the World, as round it roars
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The Fire Brigade

Hark! high o'er the rattle and clamour and clatter
    Of traffic-filled streets, do you hear that loud noise?
And pushing and rushing to see what's the matter,
    Like herds of wild cattle, go pell-mell the boys.

There's a fire in the city! the engines are coming!
    The bold bells are clanging, "Make way in the street!"
The wheels of the hose-cart are spinning and humming
    In time to the music of galloping feet.

Make way there! make way there! the horses are flying,
    The sparks from their swift hoofs shoot higher and higher,
The crowds are increasing - the gamins are crying:
    "Hooray, boys!"    "Hooray, boys!"    "Come on to the fire!"

With clanging and banging and clatter and rattle
    The long ladders follow the engine and hose.
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The Rapid. St. Lawrence.

        All peacefully gliding,
        The waters dividing,
The indolent bátteau moved slowly along,
        The rowers, light-hearted,
        From sorrow long parted,
Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song:
    "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily
    Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way;
    Soon we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily,
    Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray."

        More swiftly careering,
        The wild Rapid nearing,
They dash down the stream like a terrified steed;
        The surges delight them,
        No terrors affright them,
Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed:
    "Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily
    Shivers its arrows against us in play;
    Now we ha...

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Carry me out
Into the wind and the sunshine,
Into the beautiful world.

O, the wonder, the spell of the streets!
The stature and strength of the horses,
The rustle and echo of footfalls,
The flat roar and rattle of wheels!
A swift tram floats huge on us . . .
It's a dream?
The smell of the mud in my nostrils
Blows brave - like a breath of the sea!

As of old,
Ambulant, undulant drapery,
Vaguery and strangely provocative,
Fluttersd and beckons.    O, yonder -
Is it? - the gleam of a stocking!
Sudden, a spire
Wedged in the mist!    O, the houses,
The long lines of lofty, grey houses,
Cross-hatched with shadow and light!
These are the streets . . .
Each is an avenue leading
Whither I will!

Free . . . !
Dizzy...

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At Queensferry - To W. G. S.

The blackbird sang, the skies were clear and clean
We bowled along a road that curved a spine
Superbly sinuous and serpentine
Thro' silent symphonies of summer green.
Sudden the Forth came on us - sad of mien,
No cloud to colour it, no breeze to line:
A sheet of dark, dull glass, without a sign
Of life or death, two spits of sand between.
Water and sky merged blank in mist together,
The Fort loomed spectral, and the Guardship's spars
Traced vague, black shadows on the shimmery glaze:
We felt the dim, strange years, the grey, strange weather,
The still, strange land, unvexed of sun or stars,
Where Lancelot rides clanking thro' the haze.

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The Bridge Of Cloud

Burn, O evening hearth, and waken
    Pleasant visions, as of old!
Though the house by winds be shaken,
    Safe I keep this room of gold!

Ah, no longer wizard Fancy
    Builds her castles in the air,
Luring me by necromancy
    Up the never-ending stair!

But, instead, she builds me bridges
    Over many a dark ravine,
Where beneath the gusty ridges
    Cataracts dash and roar unseen.

And I cross them, little heeding
    Blast of wind or torrent's roar,
As I follow the receding
    Footsteps that have gone before.

Naught avails the imploring gesture,
    Naught avails the cry of pain!
When I touch the flying vesture,
    'T is the gray robe of the rain.

Baffled I return, and, leaning
    O'er the parapets ...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow