retrospect, retrospect Rupert Brooke

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    Retrospect
    by Rupert Brooke

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    In your arms was still delight,
    Quiet as a street at night;
    And thoughts of you, I do remember,
    Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,
    Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
    Love, in you, went passing by,
    Penetrative, remote, and rare,
    Like a bird in the wide air;
    And, as the bird, it left no trace
    In the heaven of your face.
    In your stupidity I found
    The sweet hush after a sweet sound.
    All about you was the light
    That dims the graying end of night;
    Desire was the unrisen sun,
    Joy the day not yet begun,
    With tree whispering to tree,
    Without wind, quietly.
    Wisdom slept within your hair,
    And Long-suffering was there,
    And, in the flowing of your dress,
    Undiscerning Tenderness.
    And when you thought, it seemed to me,
    Infinitely, and like a sea,
    About the sleight world you had known
    Your vast unconsciousness was thrown. . . .

    O haven without wave or tide!
    Silence, in which all songs have died!
    Holy book, where all hearts are still!
    And home at length, under the hill!
    O mother quiet, breasts of peace,
    Where love itself would faint and cease!
    O infinite deep I never knew,
    I would come back, come back to you;
    Find you, as a pool unstirred,
    Kneel down by you, and never a word;
    Lay my head, and nothing said,
    In your hands, ungarlanded.
    And a long watch you would keep;
    And I should sleep, and I should sleep!

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