Sonnet (Suggested by some of the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research)

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.

Back to Contents
Back to Rupert Brooke Page
Back to Poetry, etc. Page
Back to Home Page