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