Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
Bridge-Guard in the Karroo
S
The raw glare softens and clings,
Till the aching Oudtshoorn ranges
Stand up like the thrones of Kings—
Blazing, amazing, aglow—
’Twixt the sky-line’s belting beryl
And the wine-dark flats below.
Lit by the last of the sun—
Opal and ash-of-roses,
Cinnamon, umber, and dun.
The starlight reveals the ridge.
The whistle shrills to the picket—
We are changing guard on the bridge.
Where the empty metals shine—
No, not combatants—only
Details guarding the line.)
Of fence by the ganger’s shed;
We drop to the waterless channel
And the lean track overhead;
The beef and the biscuit-tins;
We take our appointed stations,
And the endless night begins.
As the sheep click past to the fold—
And the click of the restless girders
As the steel contracts in the cold—
And, loud in the hush between,
A morsel of dry earth falling
From the flanks of the scarred ravine.
And the hosts of heaven rise
Framed through the iron arches—
Banded and barred by the ties,
And we see her headlight plain,
And we gather and wait her coming—
The wonderful north-bound train.
Where the white car-windows shine—
No, not combatants—only
Details guarding the line.)
Out of the darkness we reach
For a handful of week-old papers
And a mouthful of human speech.
And the earth allows again,
Meetings, greetings, and voices
Of women talking with men.
As out on the bridge she rolls;
And the darkness covers our faces,
And the darkness re-enters our souls.
Where the lessening tail-lights shine.
No—not combatants—only—
Details guarding the line!