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Poetry Pleases: Trains At Night

Trains are the lords of the night, says Caroline Glyn's poem.


The trains are shapes of darkness, hard to discern.
They crouch along the platforms, holding their strength
For the great spring eastwards into the night.
Then, released, Train Bleu, Train Violet,
Mistral, the Orient Express, gather their power
And surge ahead in the impetus of wonder
Breaking forth, of mystery come to its time,
Rushing alone through the dark in the winds of vision,
The living creatures from the end of the world
Incandescent with their revelation,
Fiery messengers of transcendence, flying
Through the sleep of Europe with signal-dreams.


Trains run in their own tunnels,
Pulling the wind of night around them
Into the sheath of their burning,
Streaked and drawn by mastering flight
In that glory of dark and light
Swept into perfect fusion there
Where the spearhead blazes white.
Theirs is the lordship of the night,
Theirs the fire,
But the darkness is created, too.


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