[Rupert Brooke]
When she sleeps, her soul, I know
Goes a wanderer on the air
Wings where I may never go
Leaves her lying, still and fair
Waiting, empty, laid aside
Like a dress upon a chair…
This I know, and yet I know
Doubts that will not be denied
For if the soul be not in place
What has laid trouble in her face?
And, sits there nothing ware and wise
Behind the curtains of her eyes
What is it, in the self's eclipse
Shadows, soft and pa**ingly
About the corners of her lips
The smile that is essential she?
And if the spirit be not there
Why is fragrance in the hair?