Cambridge Poets 1900–1913

Rupert Brooke . There'll be no port, no dawn - lit islands ! But the drear Waste darkening , and , at length , flame ultimate on the deep . Oh , the last fire and you , unkissed , unfriended there ! Oh , the lone way 's red ending , and we not there to weep ! ( We found you pale and quiet , and strangely crowned with flowers , Lovely and secret as a child . You came with us , Came happily , hand in hand with the young dancing hours , High on the downs at dawn !) Void now and tenebrous , The grey sands curve before me .. . From the inland meadows , Fragrant of June and clover , floats the dark , and fills The hollow sea 's dead face with little creeping shadows , And the white silence brims the hollow of the hills . Close in the nest is folded every weary wing , Hushed all the joyful voices ; and we , who hold you dear , Eastward we turn , and homeward , alone , remem bering . . . Day that I loved , day that I loved , the Night is here ! 23