Francis Turner Palgrave

A Night Journey

A FLASH of steam, a dash of light
Through the black centre of the night,
With shriek and whirlwind goes the train
Across the slopes of sweet Touraine.

And o’er fair Europe’s shadowy face
A hundred more their errand trace,
And night surveys them, calm and free,
To her as little as to me.

But from that one of all that roll,
A vision lightens on the soul,
Where love is on her way to bring
Love’s sweetness to the sorrowing.

Through year-long hours of hope and woe
She sits and waits, till dawning show
The stately terraces that crown	
The level waves of broad Garonne.

Her heart is gone before her there,
And sees the room and empty chair,
And one who on the death-bed lies,
And prays to see her ere she dies.

O Love, that sits so white and still!
I think and think upon her, till
My heart is with her heart again,
Crossing the slopes of sweet Touraine.