Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.

A Song of Travel

WHERE’S the lamp that Hero lit

Once to call Leander home?

Equal Time hath shovelled it

’Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome.

Neither wait we any more

That worn sail which Argo bore.

Dust and dust of ashes close

All the Vestal Virgins’ care;

And the oldest altar shows

But an older darkness there.

Age-encamped Oblivion

Tenteth every light that shone.

Yet shall we, for Suns that die,

Wall our wanderings from desire?

Or, because the Moon is high

Scorn to use a nearer fire?

Lest some envious Pharaoh stir,

Make our lives our sepulchre?

Nay! Though Time with petty Fate

Prison us and Emperors,

By our Arts do we create

That which Time himself devours—

Such machines as well may run

’Gainst the Horses of the Sun.

When we would a new abode,

Space, our tyrant King no more,

Lays the long lance of the road

At our feet and flees before,

Breathless, ere we overwhelm,

To submit a further realm!