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Sonnet To Rupert Brooke
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We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme Where leaves were green, and whispered high above — A grave as humble as it was sublime; There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light — The hands that thrilled to touch a woman's hair; Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night, A soul that found at last its answered Prayer... There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees.
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