Rupert Brooke (1887–1915). Collected Poems. 1916.
II. 1908191116. Town and Country
H
Are stabbing-sweet’gainst chair and lamp and wall.
In every touch more intimate meanings hide;
And flaming brains are the white heart of all.
Closed in by men’s vast friendliness, alone, Two can be drunk with solitude, and meet On the sheer point where sense with knowing’s one. And the straight lines and silent walls of town, And roar, and glare, and dust, and myriad white Undying passers, pinnacle and crown By the lamp’s airless fierce ecstatic fire; And we’ve found love in little hidden places, Under great shades, between the mist and mire. Night creep along the hedges. Never go Where tangled foliage shrouds the crying bird, And the remote winds sigh, and waters flow! Or hearts grow hushed and solitary, beneath Unheeding stars and unfamiliar moons, Or boughs bend over, close and quiet as death,— Cloud-like we lean and stare as bright leaves stare, And gradually along the stranger hill Our unwalled loves thin out on vacuous air, And your lit upward face grows, where we lie, Lonelier and dreadfuller than sunlight is, And dumb and mad and eyeless like the sky.