The midnight road

The midnight road, though young men tread unknowing,
Harbouring some thought of heaven, or haven hoping,
Yields peace and plenty at the end. Or is it peace,
This busy jarring on the nerves yet no outbreak ?
And this is plenty, then, cloves and sweet oils, the bees’ honey,
Enough kind food, enough kind speaking,
A film of people moving,
Their hands outstretched, to give and give?
And now behind the screen are vixen voices,
The midnight figures of a sulphurous brood
Stepping in nightmare on a nightmare’s edges.
Above them poise the swollen clouds
That wait for breaking and that never break,
The living sky, the faces of the stars.