Rupert Brooke

(1887-1915 / Warwickshire / England)

Sonnet (Suggested By Some Of The Proceedings Of The Society For Psychical Research ) - Poem by Rupert Brooke


Not with vain tears, when we're beyond the sun,
We'll beat on the substantial doors, nor tread
Those dusty high-roads of the aimless dead
Plaintive for Earth; but rather turn and run
Down some close-covered by-way of the air,
Some low sweet alley between wind and wind,
Stoop under faint gleams, thread the shadows, find
Some whispering ghost-forgotten nook, and there

Spend in pure converse our eternal day;
Think each in each, immediately wise;
Learn all we lacked before; hear, know, and say
What this tumultuous body now denies;
And feel, who have laid our groping hands away;
And see, no longer blinded by our eyes.


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Read poems about / on: wind, sun, sonnet, running



Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002



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